


Building a House

by toyhto



Series: An Old Fling [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: A sequel but can be read as a stand-alone, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:54:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22617481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toyhto/pseuds/toyhto
Summary: It's not a simple task, building a house and a life with someone you lost a long time ago.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: An Old Fling [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626970
Comments: 89
Kudos: 232





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [Sitting by the Fire With an Old Fling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22541620), in which Geralt and Jaskier meet again years after they have parted ways. You don't probably need to read that story to make sense of this one. Anyway, I wanted to write a little more for this AU/Fix-it scenario of things (I'm not familiar with anything else than the Netflix show and a little bit the video games, so I wouldn't know). This story is probably going to have something like three or four chapters. And let me just tell you right away that I know nothing of building a house. I also know nothing about getting back together with someone you kind of loved and lost decades ago, but that I'm going to try to imagine.
> 
> You can say hi to me on [tumblr](http://toyhto.tumblr.com)!

Geralt had been away for perhaps two hours. Jaskier walked to the seaside, stood there on the hill for ten minutes watching the waves break against the cliffs, and walked back. He sat down on a rock in front of the house, because his knees were aching a little after the walk. It wasn’t really a house, though. It had been a barn long time ago and now the wind blew straight through its walls. _We’ll fix it up_ , Geralt had said. _Or find a better one._  
  
Jaskier took a deep breath and wondered what the bloody fucking hell he thought he was doing.  
  
He hadn’t thought about that much for the last two weeks. First, he had been riding with Geralt, and there had been no time, because he had been busy trying to make Geralt talk about everything that had happened in the past twenty-eight years. It had soon turned out that he didn’t really want to hear most of it. He didn’t want to think about this whole life Geralt had had without him, and even though twenty-eight years for Geralt weren’t a _life_ , he could see in Geralt’s eyes that it had been a long time.  
  
It wasn’t just that there was a lot that Geralt had suffered through and Jaskier hadn’t been there for him. Jaskier hadn’t been there to, well, probably to say something incredibly stupid and draw Geralt a bath or something. But that would have been better than nothing. Still, it was almost like Jaskier was more upset about all the small things he had missed. All the breakfasts they could have eaten together, all the new villages they could have travelled to, every new horse he could have pretended to help Geralt to pick. Geralt had some grey in his hair now and Jaskier hadn’t been there to see that appear and tease Geralt about it. He had tried to do some teasing beforehand, but it wasn’t the same.  
  
Nothing was the same, really. He bit his lip and looked over the fields. From where their barn was, he couldn’t see the sea, but he could hear it and feel it in the wind.  
  
Perhaps he was just too old for this. Too old for Geralt, and too old to try to learn another way to live. Too old to be left on his own and still believe that whatever they were doing here would work out.  
  
Or maybe it was just that too much time had passed. Sometimes it didn’t feel like that. Sometimes it was almost like he had dreamt the last twenty-eight years and he could just open his eyes in the morning and see Geralt saddling Roach by the fire in the woods somewhere they had been travelling that time. But sometimes it was like his life with Geralt had been the dream, or like it had happened to someone else, in some other life and Jaskier had only heard the songs. They were good songs, of course. But they weren’t _real._  
  
 _I’ll be gone for maybe two days,_ Geralt had said to him this morning. _It shouldn’t take longer than that to kill a vampire._ Jaskier had said he could come, too. Geralt had looked at him, shaking his head, and he had kept his mouth closed, even though he had wanted to ask why. Was it that Geralt thought he was too slow and helpless now that he was an old man? Would he have been a burden? Or did Geralt just want to get rid of him for a few days? That had to be it, because he had always been helpless with Geralt’s monsters. He had always been a burden.  
  
He was quite certain that Geralt would come back, though. Twenty-eight years ago, he wouldn’t have been. But something had changed. It had taken only a week for him to start believing that Geralt would still be there in the morning.  
  
He stood up slowly. His knees cracked ridiculously loudly, but then again, there was nothing else to listen to in here. There would be snow in a month. He couldn’t imagine Geralt and he would still be here then.  
  
Well, he had always known he would lose Geralt in the end. What he could do now was to try to enjoy what he had for as long as he had it.  
  
  
**  
  
  
That evening, he took Cinnamon and rode to the village down the coast. When he had told Geralt his horse’s name was Cinnamon, for a second he had thought Geralt would actually laugh. Perhaps that had been his intention. But then Geralt’s face had gone all serious again and Geralt had asked, _really?_ Jaskier had told him that yes, really, the horse’s name was Cinnamon. Geralt had looked at him as if he couldn’t tell which was worse, that the poor horse had to bear the silly name or that the Geralt himself was willingly travelling with someone who would name a horse _Cinnamon._  
  
Cinnamon was a good horse, though. She was younger than Geralt’s new Roach but very calm and kind. Jaskier liked calm and kind horses. And he thought Cinnamon was a nice name for a horse. Better than _Roach_ , anyway.  
  
He arrived in the village when the sun was already going down. It was a small village with not much monsters to slay as Geralt had said, but then Geralt had added that there would be plenty in a day’s riding distance. What the village had, though, was a very nice tavern. Jaskier left Cinnamon waiting outside and walked in, ordered an ale and sat down at a table in the middle of the room. It didn’t take long until a young man, perhaps forty years old, came to talk to him. He looked a little shy and he wanted to know if Jaskier was the man who was staying with the witcher.  
  
“Yes,” Jaskier said. “That’s me.”  
  
The man sat at his table, staring at him with narrowed eyes. He didn’t seem unkind, just confused. “Isn’t he…”  
  
“Isn’t he what?” Jaskier asked after a short silence.  
  
The man frowned. “But he’s a real witcher, right?”  
  
Jaskier bit back the smile. “Yes. He is. I suppose they can’t get much more real than Geralt.”  
  
“But isn’t he dangerous?” the man asked, leaning forward over the table.  
  
Jaskier opened his mouth and then closed it. A long time ago, it had been easy to talk to people about Geralt. That had changed some time after they had parted ways for good. He had realized he could still sing about Geralt but talking was hard. Now he took a deep breath and thought about how Geralt had been worried about Jaskier for the past weeks, ever since they had met in the woods and chose to travel to the coast together. He kept glancing at Jaskier as if he was afraid Jaskier might fall off the horse or have a heart attack or catch a cold or maybe get eaten by a ghoul just because he was old. It was infuriating, but also…  
  
“He isn’t dangerous to me,” Jaskier said finally.  
  
The man was clearly wondering why the hell he would say that when it couldn’t have been true.  
  
“He’s just a man, really,” Jaskier said and then thought about it. “Well, obviously he’s not _just_ a man. But he’s much more. Not less.”  
  
“But is it true that he’s terribly strong? That he can kill a ghoul with his bare hands?”  
  
“Yes,” Jaskier said. He had never seen Geralt kill a ghoul with his bare hands, thank god.  
  
“But I heard that you guys -,” the man paused, turning pink in the face, “that you’re living together. In an old barn. Surely, if he’s really a witcher, that can’t -”  
  
“We’re going to fix it up,” Jaskier said in a firm voice.  
  
He drank two more ales and had a nice chat about the local weather and the royal fashion in the past decade with two nice ladies from the village. It was nice to talk to people. It was also nice to talk to someone who wasn’t Geralt. But when he rode back to the barn, listening to the silence on the hills and the low growling of the sea, he couldn’t help hoping that Geralt had come back when he had been out.  
  
Geralt hadn’t come back.  
  
Jaskier unsaddled Cinnamon, brushed her and gave her water for the night, and then he went to the barn. He should try to do something about the holes in the walls tomorrow. Perhaps he could put dead grass in them. He really didn’t know anything about fixing a house and he doubted Geralt did, either, but at least about this they could be dumb together. If only Geralt came back and stayed.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Geralt came back two days later. It was late in the evening and Jaskier was in the barn, trying to figure out what he could use to make a better pillow for himself. When he heard Cinnamon neighing, the first thing he thought was that he wished it wasn’t a bear. He couldn’t deal with a bear. He would have to bring Cinnamon to the barn and hope that the walls would hold. But Cinnamon didn’t sound afraid, so he went outside and stood at the door until he could see the figure of a man and a horse coming closer in the dark.  
  
“Jaskier,” Geralt said. He sounded relieved.  
  
Jaskier cleared his throat. “You came back.”  
  
Geralt rode to him, got off Roach and then just stood there, watching him. He wondered if he had something on his face. But then again, he was probably looking at Geralt at the same way. First time for everything. “It was a stubborn vampire,” Geralt said. “And I bought us food and something on the way back.”  
  
“Great,” Jaskier said, taking a step towards Geralt. He kind of wanted to pat Geralt on the shoulder or, what would have been better, hug him. But there had been absolutely no touching since they had met on the road two weeks ago. It was as if they had made a rule out of it, only nothing had been said aloud. “Food and something?”  
  
“I didn’t know what to buy,” Geralt said and gave him the saddleback. It was heavy. “I suppose we need supplies, but I don’t…”  
  
“You don’t know what.”  
  
“I’ve never had a house,” Geralt said, looking at the barn that looked like it might crumble down in the wind. “Not really. But I bought you a pillow, because you complained about your neck.”  
  
Jaskier bit his lip. “I didn’t _complain about my neck.”  
  
_ “Well, you looked like you wanted to complain about your neck,” Geralt said. “You could have, you know. I don’t… I won’t…”  
  
“You won’t tell me to fuck off if you realize that I’m old and my neck aches if I sleep with a flat pillow.”  
  
Geralt frowned at him, opened his mouth and closed it again.  
  
“Right?” Jaskier said. His voice was too heavy, but he couldn’t help it now.  
  
“Yes,” Geralt said, “I suppose that’s it. I won’t tell you to fuck off.”  
  
“This time.”  
  
Geralt looked a little hurt, probably as much as he could ever look. Jaskier took a deep breath. He should have felt worse about it.  
  
“Sorry,” he said. “That was… I got kind of lonely when you were off killing vampires by yourself.”  
  
“There was only one,” Geralt said, blinking. “Really?”  
  
“I got lonely when you were gone,” Jaskier said. He thought he could taste his heartbeat in his throat. But surely, he should have been brave enough to say things like that to Geralt now that they had a barn together. “Why’re we standing outside?”  
  
“It wasn’t…” Geralt said and cleared his throat. “I didn’t enjoy it.”  
  
“What, killing a vampire?”  
  
“Being away.”  
  
Jaskier took a deep breath, then embraced himself and patted Geralt on the arm. Geralt stared at his hand but didn’t do anything, didn’t protest, didn’t flinch. It was probably a good thing. “That’s okay. That’s’… we’re going to figure this thing out, Geralt.”  
  
Geralt didn’t answer that, so perhaps it was obvious that neither of them knew what that thing was.  
  
  
**  
  
  
It turned out that Geralt had brought plenty of food, which was great, and a pillow for Jaskier, which was also great, and a few blankets which he claimed were for the winter, which was great because that meant Geralt thought they’d still be here in the winter. Jaskier refused to think about the snow and instead thought about the calm determination in Geralt’s voice instead.  
  
Geralt had also bought an oil lamp, and a painting of a horse. The oil lamp was good. The painting of a horse was also good, but mostly because the horse in the painting looked a lot like the Roach Jaskier had known. He tried not to laugh but didn’t succeed.  
  
“You bought a painting?”  
  
“Of a horse,” Geralt said.  
  
“Yes,” Jaskier said. “A painting of a horse. Geralt –“  
  
“It was cheap.”  
  
“It’s…” he looked at the painting. It was a nice painting. It wasn’t large, but it might cover a few of the holes on the wall. “This is a barn, Geralt.”  
  
“It’s a house,” Geralt said, turning away from him and beginning to take off his clothes in clumsy moves. There were stains of blood on them and Jaskier wondered who would do the laundry. “It’s going to be a house. We agreed about that.”  
  
“Yes, of course,” Jaskier said, because that sounded like they were talking about something else. He didn’t know what exactly but there was no way he was going to say no to Geralt. “It’s going to be a house. I know. It’s just… some things are more urgent than others, and a painting…”  
  
“I’m sorry that you don’t like it.”  
  
 _Bloody hell._  
  
“Geralt, come on,” Jaskier said, “I like… I _love_ that you bought a painting for our… house. I’m just a little surprised. And I’m trying to tease you about it, because it’s really nice and all and a bit sentimental and terribly impractical. Of course I _like_ it.”  
  
Geralt was quiet for a long time. “Okay.”  
  
“Come on, Geralt. I like it. I… thank you.”  
  
Geralt nodded. Jaskier wanted to laugh at him and then hug him. It seemed that he wanted to hug Geralt a lot these days, and he couldn’t remember if that had been a case when he had been young and travelling with Geralt, or if the constant need for hugging was something he had developed while growing up. Perhaps he would grow out of it. He had a feeling that there wasn’t going to be a lot of hugging, even if Geralt really stayed with him this time.  
  
“You should probably eat something,” he said.  
  
“I ate on the road,” Geralt said and sat down on the floor. “But you should eat. I brought you food.”  
  
“Thank you,” Jaskier said and cleared his throat. Geralt seemed almost small when he was sitting like that. He didn’t look dangerous at all. Jaskier hovered over him and thought about sitting down, but then again, he tried to avoid that because getting up from the floor made him feel at least ten years older than he actually was, which was very bad. He took a step towards Geralt and touched Geralt’s hair. “You aren’t hurt, are you?”  
  
“Not at all,” Geralt said. He didn’t say anything about Jaskier’s touch on his hair, so Jaskier ran his fingers down the length of it. There were knots and a few dead leaves.  
  
“We need a hearth,” Jaskier said. His hand was shaking a little but perhaps Geralt didn’t notice. “If we are going to stay.”  
  
“Do you want to leave?” Geralt asked in a sharp voice.  
  
Jaskier rested his palm on Geralt’s shoulder. It was tense under his touch. “Of course not. So, we need a hearth. We need to be able to warm water, and you know, the barn.”  
  
“The house.”  
  
“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “A house. And we should get some furniture. Two chairs, at least, because I can’t get up if I sit down on a floor.”  
  
Geralt glanced at him.  
  
“Well, I can, but I feel like an old man trying to climb a mountain.”  
  
“You are not -,” Geralt paused and bit his lip. “I’m much older than you are. Much, much older.”  
  
“It’s different for you. Anyway, we should get chairs, and a table. And a bed.”  
  
Geralt nodded.  
  
“Unless you think we need two.”  
  
“No,” Geralt said. “It’s easier to stay warm in one. And you are so…” He shook his head. “Human. You might freeze.”  
  
“True,” Jaskier said. That made sense. And the barn was too small for two beds anyway. It wouldn’t be much different from sleeping on their bedrolls next to each other like they had done past two weeks. At first, there had been a gap between them when they had settled their rolls onto the ground in the evening, then the gap had grown smaller and smaller until it had been just wide enough that they couldn’t touch each other by accident in their sleep. Jaskier took a deep breath and thought about grabbing Geralt by the elbow in his sleep, or maybe mistaking Geralt for a different kind of a companion and wrapping himself around him in the long quiet hours of the night.  
  
“What’re you doing with my hair?”  
  
Jaskier pulled his hands away. Apparently, he had combed Geralt’s hair with his fingers and took away all the stuff had been stuck in it. “When was the last time you combed this? Because really, it’s a wonder you can move when your hair has a dead forest stuck in it.”  
  
“I combed it when I was with you,” Geralt said, “didn’t bother on the road. The vampire didn’t care about my looks.”  
  
Jaskier snorted. “I’m certain that’s not true. By the way, we’re going to need a bathtub as well. Eventually.”  
  
“Fine,” Geralt said, rising his chin to look at Jaskier. Jaskier put his hand onto Geralt’s shoulder, just because he thought he could. “I’m probably going to have to kill a few monsters before that, though. We’re going to run short of the coin.”  
  
“Thank god we already have a painting of a horse,” Jaskier said.  
  
  
**  
  
  
They had their bedrolls on the floor next to the back wall. Jaskier peeled off his clothes until he was only wearing his undergarment, and then he sat down on the bedroll looking at Geralt, who did the same. Outside, the wind was howling on the hills. It was a clear night with stars on the sky, and the crescent moon. There was a chill in the air that hadn’t been there before.  
  
“We’re going to have to bring the horses inside when the nights get colder,” Jaskier said. Geralt had taken off his undershirt as well. There were scars on his back that Jaskier had never seen before, scars made by monsters Geralt had faced when Jaskier had been away.  
  
“Fine,” Geralt said.  
  
Jaskier cleared his throat. For the past two years, he had been living a month’s ride to the south from here, with relatives who thought there was something odd about the way Jaskier had lived his life but were too polite to say that aloud. If Jaskier had gone back there with Geralt, there probably wouldn’t have been much questions. And what could they have asked? _Are you sleeping with the witcher? Is this your lover? Is this your new partner? Are you planning to stay together?_ No, they would have accepted that Jaskier was even weirder than anyone had anticipated, and then Jaskier and Geralt could have lived in the room with a hearth and a bed and a window with a nice view over the town. It was a big room. And warm. And it had a real floor. And chairs.  
  
But if he suggested that to Geralt, Geralt would think that he wasn’t happy with the barn. Geralt would think that Jaskier wanted to leave or that Jaskier was just too old to live a life with less conveniences. And Geralt definitely wouldn’t say _great, I’ll come with you. I’d be happy to meet your family._  
  
“Are you alright?” Geralt asked.  
  
Jaskier flinched. He was still staring at Geralt, only now Geralt was sitting on the bedroll next to him, without a shirt, his skin warm and at Jaskier’s reach. Jaskier clenched his fists and pushed away the thought of the room in the family house and the fire in a hearth. “Just a little worried about the winter.”  
  
“You aren’t cold now, are you?” Geralt asked, frowning.  
  
“No,” Jaskier said. “No, of course not.” He was, a little.  
  
“Good,” Geralt said. “I’ll take care of everything. Don’t worry.”  
  
Jaskier bit his lip. “Don’t be an idiot. You won’t take care of _everything_ , Geralt. I’m here, too. I’m not a…” But he didn’t know how to finish it. _Not a burden._ Or maybe _not your little bride_ , only the thought was so ridiculous he almost laughed.  
  
Geralt was watching him with something soft in his eyes. “I know you aren’t. I didn’t mean that. I only meant…” He took a deep breath. “I meant I’ll take care of everything and you don’t have to worry.”  
  
“That’s exactly what you said the first time.”  
  
Geralt frowned.  
  
“Listen, Geralt,” Jaskier said and reached to pat Geralt on the arm but chose not to in the end. Geralt wasn’t wearing a shirt, and maybe Jaskier wasn’t allowed to touch him like this. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”  
  
Geralt stared at him as if what Jaskier had said was completely incomprehensible. Then something shifted in his eyes. “Thank you.”  
  
“Yes, well,” Jaskier said and lay down, “we’re going to have to ride to the village tomorrow to see if there’s someone who can make us a hearth.”  
  
  
**  
  
  
It was nice, staring at the ceiling that was vague in the dark, and listening to Geralt breathing. Jaskier was quite sure Geralt was awake, too, but he wasn’t going to say anything, because then he would have to talk, and he didn’t want to talk now. He only wanted to listen to Geralt breathing. When he had been young and they had been travelling together, he had been able to sleep in almost any situation. These days, his dreams were thinner, and he sometimes woke up in the middle of the night and stayed awake for hours without a reason, in the safest place he could imagine. Like right now. Geralt was so close to him that if he reached his hand, he could touch Geralt on the shoulder. Or on the arm. Or on the…  
  
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. There was no way Geralt was asleep. Perhaps Geralt was thinking about the same things, about how close to Jaskier was to him, how easily he could reach to Jaskier if he needed to. Or if he wanted to.  
  
It hadn’t been like this before.  
  
 _You know I would have gladly taken you to my bed_ , Jaskier had told Geralt when they had met two weeks ago after twenty-eight years. And he had meant that. He probably would have taken Geralt to his bed the first time they met and any night after that, if only Geralt had asked. If only Geralt had looked at him like someone to… not love, perhaps. But to hold at least. To kiss and fuck and then hold afterwards, in a warm room in an inn somewhere along the road, when Jaskier had still been young and foolish and full of hope, in a body he couldn’t have imagined growing older. There could have been _something_ in between them. He was sure of that.  
  
But it hadn’t been like this. He had thought Geralt could take almost anything and that he himself could take almost anything, which now seemed like a child’s dream. He hadn’t known how it broke you in pieces to lose someone you loved. He hadn’t known how much less there would be of him afterwards. He hadn’t known how much more fragile everything seemed, after, everything that was worth anything, and how much more important it seemed to hold onto anything of value. Or, anyone.  
  
He hadn’t known how heavy he could feel, lying next to Geralt in a tiny barn in the middle of nowhere.  
  
When he finally fell asleep again, he had a dream in which they were young again and Geralt broke his heart.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A second chapter! At least two more to go. This one has a lot of talking and a bit of - oh my god - touching.

There was a man in the village who could built a hearth for them, only when they brought the man to the barn, he laughed and said there was no point. It was a _barn_. It had more holes than it had wall. Geralt stared at the man for a few seconds and Jaskier thought about saving the poor guy but chose against it. They needed the hearth. After that, the man was a little shaken but said that after some consideration, he supposed he could build the hearth. On the way back to the village, Jaskier was as nice to him as he ever could, asking about his family and his craft and the weather and the horse he was riding.  
  
“What was that?” Geralt asked, when they were alone again, riding back.  
  
“What was what?” Jaskier asked. He was tired and cold and worried about the coin.  
  
“Did you like him or something?” Geralt asked in a voice that was probably supposed to be smooth.  
  
Jaskier took a deep breath. Then he laughed and it sounded more like a bark. Well, he had had a bit of a cough lately. “Did I _like him?_ Or _something?_ ”  
  
“Yes,” Geralt said. What a stubborn idiot.  
  
“Why? Because I was nice to him after you had tried to stare him to an early death?”  
  
“I didn’t try to –“  
  
“It worked, though, so thank you for that,” Jaskier said, “but I don’t want people to be scared of us around here. I want them to like us. I want them to believe that even though you _are_ a big and scary man, you aren’t going to murder them in their sleep without a good reason.”  
  
“I’m not a big and scary man.”  
  
“Oh, really? Have you seen yourself? When I first met you, you were sulking in the darkest corner of the tavern with your sword at your hand’s reach and looking like you would cut in half anyone who’d come to talk to you.”  
  
“You came to talk to me.”  
  
“Yes, well, maybe I had a death wish.” He took a deep breath. The air smelled of winter. They should have at least one month before the snow would fall, but he had trouble trying to believe a month would be enough to fix the barn. “ _Shit._ No, I didn’t mean that. And you weren’t, you didn’t, you were just… you just looked like someone who wanted to be left alone. That’s fine. And you aren’t big and scary, Geralt, you’re only… big. And very scary when you want to be.”  
  
“That’s a relief,” Geralt said, but he was almost smiling a little now.  
  
“And I’ve never in my life been scared of you, not even a second.”  
  
Geralt turned to look at the hills. “Yes, I know.”  
  
“Good. Great. Because I want you to know that.” Jaskier bit his lip. “And also, you have nothing to be jealous of.”  
  
“Jealous?” Geralt said in a flat voice.  
  
“Surely you know the word.”  
  
“I’m not _jealous,_ ” Geralt said in a grumble. “I’m _not_ jealous. I’m…” He was silent for a moment and then glanced at Jaskier. “Really? I don’t?”  
  
“I thought that was obvious.”  
  
“We never…”  
  
“I told you I would’ve taken you to my bed,” Jaskier said. He was pretty sure he hadn’t meant to talk about this again, at least not bring it up himself, and most of all, not when they were out on the hills, riding. But maybe it would be better to have the conversation now when they were both on horses and he couldn’t get stupid ideas, like to touch Geralt or something. And besides, it was getting dark so he couldn’t see the expression on Geralt’s face properly.  
  
“Jaskier,” Geralt said slowly, “you told me you would’ve taken me to your bed twenty-eight years ago. Before I left you.”  
  
“You didn’t… well, you did. But you’re missing the point.”  
  
“No, I’m not. You told me you would’ve slept with me a long time ago, if I had… I don’t even know. What the hell am I supposed to think that means now?”  
  
Jaskier stared at him. “I don’t know.”  
  
“And besides,” Geralt said, urging Roach to walk faster as if he was trying to flee from Jaskier, “you said you would have. But you didn’t. You _didn’t._ ”  
  
“I didn’t think you were willing,” Jaskier said in a thin voice.  
  
“I didn’t know you were offering,“ Geralt said, sounding almost angry.  
  
“You were in love with the… with Yennefer.”  
  
“I…” Geralt paused. “Well, that’s been over for some time now. And that was… that wasn’t…”  
  
“I suppose you see something of yourself in her,” Jaskier said, even though he didn’t want to, because then what he would say next would have to be, “and I knew you could never see that in me.”  
  
“That’s not a bad thing.”  
  
“I just… Don’t blame me for the things that didn’t happen, Geralt.”  
  
“I’m not blaming you,” Geralt said in a voice that suggested he certainly was blaming Jaskier. “And I wasn’t even jealous, just now, I wasn’t jealous when you flirted with that man.”  
  
“I didn’t fucking _flirt_ with him,” Jaskier said. “I don’t just _flirt_ with everyone. I lived with someone for more than a decade, Geralt. I am… I’ve been so _sad_ , you couldn’t know what that’s like, it’s like there’s this hole in my life, and nothing could fix it, nothing could cover it, and… I don’t just go around flirting with people.”  
  
Geralt was quiet for a long time.  
  
“And don’t tell me that I used to,” Jaskier said, steering Cinnamon closer to Roach.  
  
Geralt still didn’t say anything. It was so dark already that Jaskier couldn’t see the path they were riding on. But Geralt could. Geralt would take them home. And they had to be near, because they had been riding for a long while already.  
  
Jaskier took a deep breath. The air tasted of winter. “I wasn’t flirting with him, Geralt. You don’t have to worry about that. I thought it was quite obvious that I’m kind of putting all my marbles in the same basket now.”  
  
Geralt glanced at him over his shoulder. He could see Geralt’s eyes even in the dark. “Am I the basket?”  
  
“Yes,” he said. “You are the basket.”  
  
“Good.” Geralt was quiet for a while. “I’ve lost someone, too.”  
  
“I know,” Jaskier said, biting his lip. “Shit, I _know._ I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have –“  
  
“And I was supposed to protect her. I promised her.”  
  
“I know. Geralt –“  
  
“I don’t want to talk about it. I just wanted to… I am the basket, Jaskier.”  
  
“Yes,” Jaskier said. He wished now he wouldn’t have started this fucking conversation while they were riding. He should have waited. They should have done this at home, where he could have walked to Geralt and stroke Geralt’s hair or something, anything Geralt would let him do.  
  
“I don’t know why I was jealous,” Geralt said in a voice quiet enough that Jaskier almost didn’t hear him.  
  
“Well, I’m a bit in an advantage here,” he answered in a light tone, “because you wouldn’t know how to flirt even if you wanted to.” He left out some details, like the fact that he was an old man and Geralt still looked young except for the grey in his hair and the look in his eyes. Even if Jaskier remembered how to flirt, no one would look at him like he was something beautiful. They hadn’t in a long time. But if Geralt had wanted to, he could have had anyone.  
  
And still, he was riding with Jaskier back to the barn he insisted calling a house.  
  
Jaskier took a deep breath. “Geralt?”  
  
“Jaskier?”  
  
“The next time we ride to the village,” he said, “could we go take a bath? I know we don’t exactly have spare coin, but it’s been a while, and I can’t bear to go to wash myself in the sea.”  
  
“Yes,” Geralt said. “That’s fine. We’ll take a bath.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“I’m the basket,” Geralt said, and then they were at home.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Next week, Geralt rode to the north and was away for six days. Jaskier stayed home, trying to help the man from the village to build them a hearth. The man was called Brin and he didn’t like to talk when he worked, but whenever they were taking a break, he would ask Jaskier questions about him, about Geralt and about the places they had visited. Despite the staring accident, he seemed to think of Geralt more as a curiosity than as something to be afraid of. He was interested in Jaskier’s life as well. He wanted to know the places where Jaskier had lived, and when Jaskier mentioned his spouse’s name, the man didn’t even seem surprised. Well, maybe it made sense, since he was now living with Geralt.  
  
“I always wanted to go somewhere,” the man said one evening before riding back to the village, “see distant places, you know, see the mountains and the plains and the big rivers and everything. But I never went further than a day’s ride of travelling.”  
  
“You’re still young,” Jaskier said.  
  
Brin laughed at him. “I’m fifty-seven years old. My grandchildren are going to be adults soon. I’m too old to do anything except watch them live their lives and be happy about that.” He was quiet for a moment. “You don’t have children, I suppose.”  
  
“No,” Jaskier said.  
  
“And your friend doesn’t either.”  
  
Jaskier opened his mouth and then closed it. He could have said that obviously Geralt couldn’t have children, not his own at least. It was common enough knowledge. But he had no interest in pointing out the ways Geralt was different from the rest of them. And that hadn’t answered the question. Geralt had a child. _A child of surprise,_ Jaskier thought about saying _, but she died._ He had never made songs of it, never even thought of making. “We’re alone in here, aren’t we?” he said instead.  
  
“You’re hardly alone,” Brin said in a kind voice.  
  
Jaskier felt quite alone, though, at least at night when Brin had ridden back to the village and the barn was empty without Geralt. He slept badly and woke up tired. He tried to do something about the walls before Brin came, and then they spent the day working with the hearth. He didn’t have much time to miss Geralt. And wasn’t it a little ridiculous, really? Certainly he was well accustomed to missing Geralt by now. It shouldn’t have felt this bad.  
  
  
**  
  
  
When Geralt came back, he had bruises on his neck and face and a cut on his arm. It was bleeding. He rushed into the house and then out to the well when it became clear that there was no water. Jaskier tried to follow him but couldn’t walk so quickly, so he stood at the doorway as Geralt walked the path to the house with buckets of water in his hands. His steps didn’t look quite steady. Jaskier wanted to run to him and take the buckets, but he was worried it would end up with Geralt trying to help him. And when Geralt was finally in the house and the door was closed and Jaskier was close enough to him to touch him, he wanted to take his face in between his hands, inspect the bruises, maybe put a kiss on them, and then tie the cut on Geralt’s arm. Instead, he took the water and started warming it in the hearth. It was a blessing that Brin and he had finished the work today.  
  
“Sit down,” he said, and Geralt sat down in the wobbling chair Jaskier had tried to fix at least twice.  
  
“It’s worse than it seems,” Geralt said. His voice was hoarse as if he hadn’t talked in days.  
  
“You told me it wouldn’t be dangerous,” Jaskier said, vaguely aware of how ridiculous he sounded. Of course it had been dangerous. Everything Geralt did was dangerous.  
  
“It wasn’t,” Geralt said. “I just had some bad luck.”  
  
“You never have bad luck.”  
  
“I was in a hurry.”  
  
“You fucking idiot,” Jaskier said and took a few deep breaths but that didn’t help at all. “You can’t be in a hurry, not at your fucking job. You could’ve got _killed._ ”  
  
“It wasn’t probable,” Geralt said, “but, yes.”  
  
“You could’ve got killed,” Jaskier said, stopping to look at him. He was almost smiling. “You bloody asshole.”  
  
“Jaskier,” Geralt said slowly.  
  
“Don’t smile at me. I know that I’m… I’m not supposed to…”  
  
“You look so _angry_ ,” Geralt said. “You never used to be afraid that I would die.”  
  
“Because I never really thought you could.”  
  
“And now you know better.”  
  
“Anyone can die. And I… I…”  
  
“The water is boiling,” Geralt said.  
  
“ _Shit._ ” Now Jaskier would have to mix it with cold water. He started doing that, turning his back to Geralt so that Geralt wouldn’t see his hands were shaking. Just a little, though. It could have been worse. He thought he could feel Geralt’s eyes on his back, and on his hands as well, and he tried to concentrate on the task. When the water was sufficiently warm, he took a clean cloth and sunk it in. “Is that all? Your arm?”  
  
“There’s a tiny cut on my chest,” Geralt said. “Nothing to fuss about.”  
  
“Take off your shirt,” Jaskier said.  
  
Geralt did that without arguing. Jaskier dragged the other chair to Geralt and sat down, his knees settling in between Geralt’s sprawled legs. Geralt smelled of sweat and blood and unknown monsters.  
  
“Remember when I told you we should go to the village to take a bath?”  
  
“Are you complaining?” Geralt said in a quiet voice. He was leaning back in his chair, his expression not giving away any pain. He looked almost comfortable.  
  
“You bet I am,” Jaskier said, starting to clean the cut on Geralt’s arm. “We’re going to go tomorrow.”  
  
“I see we have the hearth now.”  
  
“Yes, well, I’ve been busy.”  
  
“You built it,” Geralt said, only smiling a little.  
  
“With Brin.”  
  
Something shifted in Geralt’s gaze.  
  
“Don’t be jealous,” Jaskier said and placed his hand on Geralt’s neck, a steady light touch on the bruises that were black and purple. He stroked Geralt’s chin with his thumb.  
  
Geralt took a deep breath.  
  
“Anyway,” Jaskier said, pulling his hand away, “this cut doesn’t seem too deep. I suppose it could heal without stitching.”  
  
“It will,” Geralt said. “I should’ve tied it myself. But I just wanted to get back home.”  
  
Jaskier cleared his throat.  
  
“I heal quickly. It’ll be fine in the morning.”  
  
“I’ll clean the one on your chest as well,” Jaskier said and leaned closer, rested the flat of his palm next to the cut and bit his lip. He could feel Geralt’s slow heartbeat against his hand. “Don’t move.”  
  
“I’m not going to,” Geralt said.  
  
Jaskier cleaned the cut, then kept the cloth in one hand while the other was still pressed against Geralt’s chest. His own heart was beating like crazy. Geralt’s skin still felt the same as always, as if years had done barely anything to him. Jaskier’s own hand looked wrinkled and grey.  
  
“Hey,” Geralt said and placed his hand on Jaskier’s, then slowly pulled both of their hands away. Jaskier took a deep breath. Geralt held his hand, resting it on his thigh.  
  
“What about the bruises?” Jaskier asked, looking at their entangled fingers.  
  
“Don’t worry about them. They’ll be gone in the morning.” Geralt paused. “You can touch them if you want to.”  
  
Jaskier opened his mouth, then closed it again, raised his free hand and placed it on the side of Geralt’s neck again.  
  
“It’s fine,” Geralt said as Jaskier followed the bruises with his fingertips, lightly enough that he was certain it wouldn’t hurt. “It’s fine, Jaskier.”  
  
“I didn’t like being alone.”  
  
“You weren’t alone,” Geralt said, “you had your horse.”  
  
“Cinnamon.”  
  
Geralt cleared his throat, his mouth curving into a small smile. Jaskier brushed the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “Your horse… _Cinnamon._ ”  
  
“You should learn to say her name without sounding like a snob,” Jaskier said in a bit breathless voice. “She’s been a little offended.”  
  
“Well, that’s entirely your fault,” Geralt said. He was still holding Jaskier’s hand in his.  
  
“What are you saying that I should have called her instead? _Roach?_ ”  
  
“That’s a perfect name for a horse,” Geralt said. “Are you hungry?”  
  
“Not really,” Jaskier said, thinking about Geralt’s hand on his. Then he thought about the question. “Are _you?_ ”  
  
Geralt grimaced. “Of course not. But…”  
  
“But you could eat.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“You should’ve said you were hungry.”  
  
“I’m not _hungry,_ ” Geralt said in a long-suffering voice, “it’s just that I haven’t eaten in two days.”  
  
“You’re so stupid sometimes,” Jaskier said, “I hope you know that. We’re going to eat now.”  
  
“Fine,” Geralt said.  
  
“Fine,” Jaskier said.  
  
“You’re still holding my hand,” Geralt said.  
  
Jaskier bit his lip. “ _You’re_ holding _my_ hand. And besides, I didn’t think we were talking about that.”  
  
“Talking about what?” Geralt asked.  
  
“Now you’re just being cruel,” Jaskier said, but he couldn’t bear to pull his hand away.  
  
“And you said I wouldn’t know how to flirt,“ Geralt said, and then he fell silent. He let go of Jaskier’s hand and Jaskier pulled it back, then thought about it and rested his hand on Geralt’s knee. Geralt took a deep breath, looking at him with something tired and wary in his eyes.  
  
“Look,” Jaskier said, even though his voice was wavering a little, “we’ll eat something, and then we’ll go to bed and sleep. And tomorrow we’ll go to the village and take a bath.”  
  
“We don’t have a bed yet,” Geralt said.  
  
Jaskier shook his head. “Sometimes I don’t know why I like you so much,” and then he patted Geralt on the knee and stood up. All his joints crackled. He found them something to eat, and then they ate in silence. A few times he caught Geralt looking at his hand.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Next morning, he woke up to Geralt watching him.  
  
“Hi,” he said.  
  
“Hi,” Geralt said.  
  
“Why are you staring at me?” Jaskier asked. “Not that I mind.”  
  
Geralt frowned.  
  
“It can’t be morning yet,” Jaskier said, when Geralt didn’t answer him.  
  
“You can sleep for a little longer if you want,” Geralt said in a quiet voice. “We aren’t in a hurry.”  
  
“It’s our bath day, though.”  
  
“A bath day.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“It’ll wait,” Geralt said. Jaskier looked at him as he blinked and then slowly wriggled his arm from under the bedroll, reached for Jaskier and followed the line of Jaskier’s left eyebrow with his front finger. “You have a scar in there.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Geralt was quiet for a while. Jaskier could feel his own heart beating in his throat. “How did you get it?”  
  
“It was stupid,” he said, watching Geralt. “I fell at our front door, just stumbled onto something and fell, and hit my face against edge of the steps.”  
  
Geralt’s fingers stilled. “Your front door –“  
  
“We had a small house,” Jaskier said slowly, “my spouse and I.”  
  
Geralt took a deep breath and then started stroking Jaskier’s hair. “You didn’t tell me her name.”  
  
“It was a him, Geralt,” Jaskier said. Maybe it was unfair to be surprised that Geralt had got that part wrong. “Hakil. He was Hakil.”  
  
Geralt blinked. “A man.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Was it…” Geralt sighed. “You found him after I… after I left you.”  
  
“I loved him, Geralt. I loved him so much.” Jaskier cleared his throat. “What’re you trying to ask?”  
  
Geralt shook his head.  
  
“Are you trying to ask if I was looking for you when I found him? Because if you are, I can’t answer. How would I even know?”  
  
“You had a life with someone else,” Geralt said in a disoriented tone, his hand settling to rest against the back of Jaskier’s neck. His fingers were warm and strong but hesitant. “I’m sorry that he…”  
  
“Died,” Jaskier said. “Yes, well, I am too. But it’s been years since that happened. It’s gotten a lot easier for me to… you know. Go on.”  
  
“I don’t know if you care,” Geralt said, “but I haven’t really… not like you. I didn’t… I’ve mostly just visited brothels. And I saw Yennefer. A couple of times. And there was another mage. For a short while. But I didn’t…”  
  
“You didn’t build a house with them,” Jaskier said.  
  
Geralt nodded.  
  
“Well, I suppose you could live for another hundred and fifty years,” Jaskier said. “This doesn’t have to be all that there is left for you.”  
  
“I won’t leave another hundred and fifty years,” Geralt said in a heavy voice. “And I’m not… this isn’t… I’m not unhappy about this, Jaskier.”  
  
Jaskier bit his lip. “Well, that’s good.”  
  
“I mean,” Geralt said and frowned, “that I’m happy about this.”  
  
“It sounds a bit better when you say it like that.”  
  
“I’m not good at talking.”  
  
“You’re doing pretty well,” Jaskier said and then placed his hand on Geralt’s arm. Geralt’s hand was still on the back of his neck, his fingers pushed into Jaskier’s hair. It was almost like Geralt was holding his head on his palm. His hands were so ridiculously huge. “I’m not going to sleep anymore. Maybe we should get up.”  
  
“Just a few more minutes,” Geralt said. “I was away for five nights.”  
  
“Sleeping all by yourself in the woods.”  
  
“Exactly,” Geralt said. “Just a few minutes.”  
  
“Fine,” Jaskier said and closed his eyes.  
  
  
**  
  
The innkeeper didn’t even blink when they paid him for a couple of hours in the room to take a bath. Perhaps they looked like they needed it. And besides, everyone in the village already knew who they were. They knew who Geralt was, because they had heard Jaskier’s songs. Jaskier had played in the tavern for a few times now, only he had left the more controversial stuff out. It had taken him some time to realize he hadn’t played only for the coin but also to make himself feel that they weren’t strangers here. So, everyone knew them, and everyone knew they were living together out on the hills in an old barn.  
  
“You’re quiet,” Geralt said, when they were in the room, taking off their clothes. “What’re you thinking about?”  
  
Jaskier bit his lip. He was thinking about the innkeeper and whether the man thought they were lovers. It seemed a bit unfair, because they _weren’t_. In the past, Jaskier had had nothing against people thinking he was sleeping with someone he actually wasn’t. This time, the thought hurt a little.  
  
But he didn’t want the people in the village to think that they weren’t sleeping together, either. He opened the laces of his undergarment, peeled them off and put into a bucket that was waiting for the laundry. Then he straightened his back and took a deep breath. Geralt was already naked, just standing on the floor, looking like he didn’t know what to do.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Geralt said.  
  
“I’m not worried,” Jaskier said and put his hands on his hips. What a pair they made, one inhumanly strong and beautiful and one an old man.  
  
Geralt was staring at him with a frown on his face that suggested he didn’t know what to do about Jaskier and was a little frustrated about that. “If you’re worried that there will be talk –“  
  
“I’m not _worried_ ,” Jaskier said. “I told you that. How can you even look like that?”  
  
Geralt blinked. “What?”  
  
“It’s just…” Jaskier took a deep breath. “Very unfair. Very, very unfair. I hope you realize that. I hope you realize that anyone who sees us together must think that I’m your… dad or something.”  
  
Geralt just stared at him. He turned his back to Geralt, stepped to the bathtub and climbed in, although he had to hold tightly onto the rim not to fall, and his knees kept cracking like a fucking landslide. This was madness. He was a mad man like his family had kept trying to tell him for all his life. No sane person would have gone after a witcher in their old age. When he had heard that Geralt had been seen nearby, he should have hurried to the opposite direction instead of trying to find Geralt like a complete nutcase.  
  
There was an odd sound. He sat down in the bathtub and wanted to drown himself in there, and then he glanced over his shoulder to see that Geralt was smiling with his teeth bared.  
  
Jaskier blinked. “What? Were you… did you _laugh?_ ”  
  
“Your _dad?_ ” Geralt said. “You think people would think you’re my _dad?_ ”  
  
“Well”, he said and cleared his throat.  
  
“They’re afraid of me”, Geralt said, his voice a little more serious now. “Every single human being on the continent is at least a little afraid of me, except for you. They think that I could kill anything and feel nothing about it. If they don’t think so, they at least wonder if it’s true after all. I don’t know what they think that you are to me, but they’d never think you were my _dad._ It would make me seem human.”  
  
“Geralt –“  
  
“Just think about it,” Geralt said, walking to him and stepping into the bath with him. The water rocked when Geralt lowered himself down on the opposite end of the tub. He pushed his feet forward so that they were resting against Jaskier’s thighs, and he placed his left hand on Jaskier’s knee. “A murderous witcher coming to a local inn with his father to ask for a bath.”  
  
“You aren’t murderous,” Jaskier said in a quiet voice, “and maybe your father wants a bath.”  
  
“My father would have been dead for a hundred years at least.”  
  
Well, that was… that was of course true. “I didn’t mean it like that.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“I meant that…” Jaskier took a deep breath. “You look so young.”  
  
“Stop complaining about my looks,” Geralt said. “I have feelings, too, you know.”  
  
“I’m not _complaining_ , you asshole,” Jaskier said and placed his hand on Geralt’s palm that was resting on his knee. “I just envy you. I envy you so much.”  
  
“I envy you,” Geralt said. “Because this time, if nothing goes wrong, you’re going to leave me. I’m going to get used to you and then you’re going to leave me alone.”  
  
Jaskier was quiet for a long time. The water was warm and perfect and it was easier to be like this, half of him hidden under the water. And Geralt’s legs were resting against his thighs and Geralt’s feet brushed against his hips. For a moment he didn’t feel old. “If nothing goes wrong,” he said finally. “Is that the plan?”  
  
“I think so,” Geralt said, his voice steady and his eyes fixed on Jaskier’s. “Unless you have other plans.”  
  
“No,” he said. “Nothing. I’d be glad to be stuck with you until I die.”  
  
“I won’t let you, not in a long time, though.”  
  
“That’s fine. That’s good, Geralt.”  
  
“And when I say that I’m going to get used to you,” Geralt said, took Jaskier’s hand and squeezed it lightly, “I mean that… that I’m going to…”  
  
“I know,” Jaskier said. He didn’t, exactly, but he could guess. And he probably had a better guess than Geralt, anyway, because he had lived through it once. He had loved someone every day and grown used to them and loved them anyway until it became not a feeling or a decision or a devotion, but rather a part of who he was.  
  
“And besides,” Geralt said, the corner of his mouth twitching, “no one sane would think you were my father.”  
  
Jaskier swallowed. “It’s not that, Geralt. It’s…”  
  
“What?”  
  
 _Bloody hell._ “I’m not pretty.”  
  
Geralt blinked at him, as if he didn’t realize what Jaskier was saying, the goddamn idiot. He loved Geralt so much. “What?” Geralt asked.  
  
“I used to be,” Jaskier said, even though he sounded ridiculous and pitiful and he knew it. “When we were young and travelling together, I was, I don’t know, averagely good-looking.”  
  
Geralt snorted.  
  
“Don’t,” Jaskier said, “just don’t, you asshole. I _was._ I know that it was mostly because my family was rich and I could afford the clothes and, you know, the effort. But anyway. I knew I was a good musician and that I was quite good-looking and that was it. I had nothing else. But now, I don’t know, now I don’t think you’re keeping me for my singing, and you aren’t definitely keeping me for my looks.”  
  
“I only laughed because you were being modest,” Geralt said. “It was weird. You never were modest. You thought you were the prettiest boy on the continent, and you weren’t exactly wrong.”  
  
Jaskier bit his lip. “The prettiest boy –“  
  
“What, am I wrong?”  
  
“You never once said that I was pretty. I’d remember.”  
  
Geralt’s face went serious. “I didn’t think it’d matter. You knew it anyway.”  
  
“I didn’t. Not that you thought… I didn’t think you even saw me sometimes.”  
  
“Well”, Geralt said, “maybe you were right about that. I was… you know what I was like. I was always in a hurry. I don’t know why. Maybe because I was so young and foolish. I was only a hundred years old when we met, you know.”  
  
“A youngster,” Jaskier said.  
  
“But I felt old,” Geralt said, his tone serious now. He sounded like he always had when he tried to stop Jaskier from doing something stupid and dangerous. “I felt ancient even then. And now I feel… When I look at you, I feel like an elephant looking at a butterfly.”  
  
“ _A butterfly._ You read that somewhere, Geralt.”  
  
“No, I didn’t.”  
  
“Yes, you did,” Jaskier said, but he realized he was smiling. Geralt had called him a butterfly, and also Geralt was talking fucking _poetry_ to him. “When we have finished building our house, we’re going to have to get you better poems to read. Because that was just _lame._ ”  
  
“No, it wasn’t,” Geralt said in an angry tone, “it was how I feel about you, Jaskier.”  
  
“You think I’m a butterfly,” Jaskier said, grinning.  
  
“No, I don’t,” Geralt said. “I’m taking it back.”  
  
“You can’t.”  
  
“I _can._ ”  
  
“But the thing is,” Jaskier said and put his free hand on Geralt’s knee, then ran his palm a few inches down on Geralt’s thigh. Geralt didn’t inch. Jaskier stared at his hand for a few seconds, his hand and Geralt’s thigh under it, the skin covered with hair and mapped with faint scars. Then he raised his chin to look Geralt in the eyes. “The thing is,” he said, clearing his throat, “maybe I see you as a butterfly, too.”  
  
“You couldn’t,” Geralt said, but his voice was a little thin now. Impossibly low, impossibly hoarse, like always, but nervous. “I’m not a butterfly.”  
  
“I’m not, either,” Jaskier said, stopping his hand an inch closer to Geralt’s lap than he was comfortable with. He could see Geralt’s chest rising and falling with slow breaths. “But who cares? Who cares what we really are? It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is how we see one another. And I just need you not to see me as an old man.”  
  
“I need you to realize that I’m an old man,” Geralt said. “You keep forgetting.”  
  
“I can’t promise that,” Jaskier said. His hand on Geralt’s thigh was shaking a little. “I still want to touch you, Geralt.”  
  
Geralt cleared his throat, then slowly covered Jaskier’s hand with his own. “I know. It’s okay. It’s just… it’s a little unnerving.”  
  
Jaskier was sure Geralt could feel his heartbeat in his fingers.  
  
“It’s going to be so bad when I lose you,” Geralt said, looking at their hands.  
  
“Not in a long time. That’s what you said.”  
  
“It’s not the same for you than it is for me.”  
  
Jaskier closed his eyes for a second. He wasn’t going to die, not for fucking decades, not now that he finally had Geralt in a bath with him, holding his hand and talking to him like that. He wasn’t going to give this up. But when he did, when eventually he would have to, he was sure it would be easier for Geralt than how it seemed now. Geralt would miss him for a while and then keep going like he always had, killing monsters with more grey in his hair but being just as beautiful as always. He would find someone else to love and forget about Jaskier and live for another hundred years.  
  
“Can I come closer to you?” Jaskier asked.  
  
Geralt’s mouth twitched. “I doubt that. I don’t think your knees bend.”  
  
“You’re terrible,” Jaskier said but couldn’t really put meaning into it. Geralt let go of his hand and leaned closer to him, put his hands on Jaskier’s knees and then stroked up and down on his thighs. He was shivering and half-hard and he knew Geralt could see.  
  
“We’re going to have to get a bed,” Geralt said. “Soon.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“So that you can lie on your back.”  
  
“Don’t fucking patronize me,” Jaskier said, but he sounded a little out of breath.  
  
“I’m not. I’m trying to flirt with you.”  
  
“Oh.” _Oh._  
  
“Jaskier,” Geralt said. Jaskier flinched. Nothing in this world had ever sounded better than Geralt saying his name like that. “Jaskier, you are… do you want me to…” And he reached his right hand towards Jaskier’s lap.  
  
Jaskier took a sharp breath and grabbed Geralt’s wrist. “No. It’s… I mean, yes, but I probably couldn’t…It’s a fickle thing these days, Geralt. I can’t trust it. Can you just… can you keep touching me like you did?”  
  
“Yes,” Geralt said. He didn’t sound disappointed but not relieved, either. Jaskier tried to breathe in and out as Geralt put his hand back onto his knee, then kept stroking his thighs, his thumbs drawing a line on the insides of Jaskier’s thighs. Maybe it was good that he wasn’t flexible anymore, because otherwise he might have kicked Geralt in the face by accident.  
  
“I want to touch you, too, Geralt.”  
  
“Later,” Geralt said. “We have time.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one, guys! There's a lot of snow in this one.

The first snow fell one afternoon, two days after Geralt had ridden east, following a rumor about a noonwraith who had been a princess once. Jaskier had wanted to tell him not to go. But it would be much more difficult to travel far in the winter, and besides, they had asked the carpenter in the village to make them a bed and it wouldn’t be cheap, even though Geralt had dealt with the rat problem in the carpenter’s cellar. That hadn’t been a good day. Geralt had been a little shaken for the whole night, and nothing Jaskier said could fix his pride. Also, Jaskier had tried not to laugh, when Geralt had muttered _rats_ under his breath for the tenth time.  
  
But now Geralt was away again and the snow was falling, and Jaskier made a little walk and missed Geralt so badly it felt like there was something wrong with his lungs. Or perhaps he should exercise more. The sea was still grey and alive, but the hills were getting painted white, and the new snow was quickly covering his footsteps. He wondered for how long Geralt would be gone this time and if he stopped missing Geralt eventually.  
  
He didn’t, and Geralt was away for two weeks. The piles of snow reached higher outside the house that felt more of a barn again when Geralt wasn’t there. Jaskier hang the horse painting so that he could see it every morning when he opened his eyes. The last time he had ridden to the village, the carpenter had told him the bed was ready, but he didn’t want to bring the bed here without Geralt, because he didn’t want to sleep in it without Geralt, and he didn’t want to sleep in a bedroll on the floor when there was an empty bed in the house and feel like a nutcase. But when he rode to the village again, the carpenter pointed out that the more there would be snow, the harder it would be to get the bed to the house. So, Jaskier paid for a man, two horses and a wagon to bring the bed, and then he slept a night on the floor next to it thinking he should have his head examined.  
  
The next morning, Geralt came back. Jaskier was making breakfast, his fingers clumsy of cold, and he was vaguely thinking about how warm his room in the family house far in the south had been. But then someone pushed the door open and he rose onto his feet, and it was Geralt. Thank god it was Geralt. Geralt had snow in his hair and on his shoulders and he looked cold and tired and older than Jaskier remembered ever seeing him. He stared at Jaskier and then at the bed and the bedroll next to it.  
  
“Our bed is here,” he said, his voice so hoarse it was difficult to make sense of the words.  
  
“Yes,” Jaskier said, walked to him and grabbed his shoulders. “We brought it here yesterday.”  
  
“You didn’t sleep in it.”  
  
“Don’t say anything.”  
  
“You fool,” Geralt said and covered Jaskier’s hands with his own. His hands were ice-cold. “Your back’s been hurting for weeks. Why didn’t you sleep in the bed?”  
  
Jaskier bit his lip. “I wanted to try it with you.”  
  
Geralt snorted. “It’s just a bed.” But he was stroking the back of Jaskier’s hands with his fingers.  
  
“Geralt,” Jaskier said and tried to concentrate on something else than Geralt’s touch, “are you hungry? Are you cold? Have you eaten? Are you tired? Are you _hurt?_ Is there something we should –“  
  
“Everything’s fine,” Geralt said. “I saw a healer before I travelled back. Everything’s healed by now.”  
  
“So, you _were_ hurt.”  
  
“The noonwraith was very unhappy, and who could blame her. It’s alright, Jaskier.”  
  
“Okay.” Jaskier took a deep breath. He should probably stop making a fuss. “Did you eat already? It’s barely morning. Where did you sleep?”  
  
“I didn’t,” Geralt said, “I rode through the night. I’m going to have to go to unsaddle Roach. I just wanted to see you first.”  
  
“You should have slept,” Jaskier said. He was terribly happy that Geralt hadn’t.  
  
“It’s been a few days since I’ve slept more than a few hours,” Geralt said. “I was in a hurry. There was talk on the road that the snow was coming. Do you mind if I try our new bed?”  
  
Jaskier shook his head.  
  
“Great,” Geralt said, grabbed Jaskier’s wrists and then gently removed Jaskier’s hands from his shoulders. “I expect you to join me. I heard a rumor that you think we should try it together.”  
  
“Of course,” Jaskier said. “Yes. I can do that. Go to see Roach.”  
  
Geralt nodded and then just stood there, staring at Jaskier. Jaskier stared at him back. Maybe Geralt could wait a moment so that Jaskier would have a chance to wrap himself in warmer clothes, and then he could come with Geralt to see Roach. He was about to suggest that, when Geralt put his hand on the side of his face, leaned in and kissed him on the forehead.  
  
He froze.  
  
“I’ll go now,” Geralt said, turned and walked through the door.  
  
  
**  
  
  
They had built a shed for the horses a few weeks earlier. It wasn’t much but at least it kept them from getting covered in snow, and it was where Jaskier found Geralt half an hour later. By then, he thought he had given Geralt enough time to deal with his feelings or whatever it was that Geralt was dealing with. It clearly wasn’t Roach, because Roach had been unsaddled and brushed and fed and now Geralt was just playing with her left ear, and she was apparently ignoring Geralt as well as she could.  
  
“Leave the poor horse alone,” Jaskier said. “I thought you were coming back inside.”  
  
“I am,” Geralt said. “I’ll just…”  
  
“Don’t move,” Jaskier said and walked to him. Geralt looked like he was going to argue, so Jaskier took his face in between his hands and placed a kiss on his forehead. Then he frowned. “ _Shit._ You’re so cold it’s like kissing a snow man. If you don’t come inside right now, I’ll carry you.”  
  
“Will you?” Geralt said in a distant tone. Then he took a deep breath. “Thank you.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Jaskier said and patted him on the arm. “Come on. I’ve missed you like crazy and I was under impression that what we’re going to do next is that we’re going to get to the bed together and lay there and pretend to sleep, so I’m pretty anxious to get to that already.”  
  
“You missed me like crazy?” Geralt said but let himself be dragged away from Roach and to the house, where Jaskier began undressing him. His hands were a little unsteady but he was pretty sure neither of them minded.  
  
“Of course I missed you like crazy. You were gone for a fucking lifetime.”  
  
“Jaskier –,” Geralt said and took a deep breath when Jaskier pushed his hands under his shirt and pulled it off. Then he began undoing the laces of Geralt’s trousers. “Jaskier, they paid me well. I think we have enough coin for the winter.”  
  
“Really?” Jaskier asked, pulling Geralt’s trousers to his knees.  
  
“If we’re careful about how we spend it. And if I can find a few smaller contracts nearby.”  
  
“I don’t want you to go far,” Jaskier said and then bit his lip, but it was already out there. “What if there’s more snow and you can’t come back? I can’t stand to be here alone the whole winter.”  
  
“That’s not going to happen.”  
  
“You have new scars on your throat.”  
  
“The noonwraith,” Geralt said and then wrapped his fingers loosely around Jaskier’s wrist, when Jaskier brushed his fingertips against the scars. “Jaskier. _Bed._ ”  
  
“Yes,” Jaskier said and stepped back. Geralt glanced at him and then walked to the bed, and he watched as Geralt sat down on the edge of the mattress in his undergarment and then lay down on his back. He looked like he was waiting for something odd to happen. Jaskier cleared his throat, peeled off the top layer of his clothing and went to bed with Geralt. Geralt made room for him.  
  
“It’s a good bed,” Jaskier said.  
  
Geralt nodded.  
  
“You should probably try to sleep.”  
  
“Yes,” Geralt said and pulled the blanket on both of them, but he didn’t close his eyes.  
  
Jaskier bit his lip. “Or are you cold? Because I could…” But he didn’t know how to finish it. He looked at Geralt and wished Geralt would read it in his eyes, and maybe Geralt did, because he took Jaskier’s hand and then held it when he turned his back to Jaskier. Jaskier’s arm got wrapped around his side and he had to shift closer to Geralt. He closed his eyes and breathed in Geralt’s scent, and then after a moment he pressed his chest against Geralt’s back.  
  
Geralt didn’t say anything.  
  
Jaskier thought he could hear the horses moving around in the shed. He thought he could hear Geralt’s heart beating and he thought he could feel it when Geralt fell asleep.  
  
It was easier to breathe if he breathed in Geralt’s rhythm.  
  
He had been in love before but couldn’t remember if it had felt this heavy. Maybe that was because this was his second love, or his first and last, depending on how he counted. Or maybe that was because this time, he knew what it was like to remember love and live without it.  
  
He pressed his face against the back of Geralt’s neck and it felt a little like kissing.  
  
  
**  
  
  
He woke up to Geralt stroking his hair.  
  
“Hi,” Geralt said, his fingers stopping.  
  
“Don’t stop,” Jaskier said. He was lying on his side and Geralt was facing him, the blanket pushed down to his waist. His undershirt was half-unlaced and there was an old scar under his right collarbone. He looked like one of those dreams Jaskier had had when he had been younger. “Did you sleep at all?”  
  
“A little,” Geralt said, then smiled so briefly Jaskier barely saw it happen. “You slept for hours.”  
  
“Sorry,” he said but didn’t mean it. He was warm and happy and heavy in the best way possible, and Geralt still had his fingers in his hair. “Can we stay in the bed the whole day?”  
  
“I don’t think so,” Geralt said in a lower voice than usually. Jaskier wondered if he was doing it on purpose. Maybe he wanted to see Jaskier falling into pieces under his hands. “We should try to cover the walls with snow. It’ll help keeping the house warm.”  
  
“Do you think the horses will be alright in the shed?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Geralt said, frowning. “But I don’t want to bring them in. They’ll be watching us.”  
  
Jaskier bit back a smile. “You think?”  
  
“The new Roach is a bit judgmental.”  
  
“And what’re you going to do to me, then,” Jaskier said slowly, “that you think they will judge?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Geralt said. He ran his thumb down on Jaskier’s cheek, then took a light grip on Jaskier’s chin. “You said it’s a fickle thing.”  
  
Jaskier took a deep breath. Well, at least he wasn’t asleep anymore. “Are we talking about it now?” He had been thinking about it, of course, the conversation they had had when they had gone to the village for a bath weeks ago. The conversation about his dick.  
  
“Jaskier,” Geralt said slowly, “we aren’t just friends who’re living together, are we?”  
  
“Of course not,” Jaskier said, even though he was stupidly relieved that Geralt had said it first.  
  
“So,” Geralt said, his palm flat against the side of Jaskier’s face now, “I suppose we’re going to have to figure out what that means.”  
  
Jaskier took a deep breath, then wriggled his hand from under the blanket and followed the scar on Geralt’s chest with his thumb. Geralt stilled under his touch. “I want everything,” he said to Geralt’s chest. “I want everything you’re willing to give, Geralt, I want it all. I was never… you know I’m not coy about… love.”  
  
Geralt snorted, but there was a nervous undertone in it.  
  
“It’s just that I don’t have a body that works,” Jaskier said as quietly as he could bear but still it felt like shouting. “I wish I did but I don’t. It’s not only that I don’t like it anymore. It’s also… not working.”  
  
“You got hard when we were taking a bath,” Geralt said, his eyes fixed on Jaskier’s and his fingers holding Jaskier’s face as if he knew Jaskier wanted to pull the blanket over his head and bury himself in the mattress. “And you almost did just now, this morning when we got to the bed and you thought I had already fallen asleep.”  
  
Jaskier bit his lip. “Geralt –“  
  
“I thought you were trying to stick it up my ass,” Geralt said so hoarsely it should have been illegal.  
  
Jaskier opened his mouth to say that he hadn’t, or to ask if Geralt was doing this deliberately, and then he realized what was happening in his pants.  
  
Something shifted on Geralt’s face. “See?” Geralt said and smiled a little. “You’re fine.”  
  
“You bastard,” Jaskier asked, but he couldn’t put weight into it. “It comes and goes. I can’t keep it up.”  
  
Geralt took a deep breath and started stroking his hair again. “I didn’t choose you because of what I thought you’d be in bed. It’s easy to find that. It’s easy to find… a hard cock. If that’s what you’re looking for. But the rest of it, well, finding that is almost impossible.”  
  
“I thought I chose you,” Jaskier said. “Can you say _a hard cock_ again?”  
  
“Is it working for you?” Geralt asked. “Listen, Jaskier. Don’t think about your dick. Think about what you _want._ ”  
  
“I want to be thirty years younger. Or at least twenty. Or ten.”  
  
“I’m here now,” Geralt said, “I’m here and I’m willing. But I need to know what you want.”  
  
“I want to turn back time.”  
  
“Don’t be an idiot. Tell me.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Jaskier said, even though he didn’t want to. He wanted to kiss Geralt and climb onto him and untie his breeches and push them down on his thighs and then swallow him down. He wanted to put a fire in the hearth and stay in the bed and make love in every possible way, he wanted Geralt on him and in him and breathing things into his ear in the voice so low it would crumble. He wanted Geralt to fuck him and tell him they’d never part, that this was it, that he would never have to let go of Geralt. He wanted all that and probably other things as well, things that didn’t come to his mind right now. But when he imagined all that, it wasn’t he who was in the picture with Geralt. It was the Jaskier he had been a long time ago, before all the loss and all the heartache and before his body had grown old with his heart.  
  
Geralt was watching him quietly as if he knew what Jaskier was thinking, and Jaskier wished more than anything that he didn’t.  
  
“You said something about snow,” he said. “You said we need to cover the walls with it. Can we do it now?”  
  
“I could eat a little first,” Geralt said, “but, yes.”  
  
“Great,” Jaskier said and started climbing off the bed.  
  
Geralt put his hand onto Jaskier’s shoulder and stopped him. “You don’t have to know right now.”  
  
Jaskier froze.  
  
“I’m not in a hurry,” Geralt said. “And it’s difficult for me, too, to… try to gather the courage to touch you. So, just, please, tell me when you know.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Good,” Geralt said and patted him on the shoulder. “Thank you.”  
  
Jaskier took a deep breath, climbed off the bed and turned to face Geralt. “I hope you know that you’re being… very good.”  
  
Geralt just stared at him.  
  
“You’re very good at this, Geralt.”  
  
“No, I’m not.”  
  
“Shut up,” Jaskier said. “Let’s go make piles of snow.”  
  
  
**  
  
  
There was too much snow. Jaskier decided soon enough that he didn’t like the coast after all, or maybe he didn’t like the coast this far in the north. It would have been easier if they could have bought a house in the village where there were other people, so he told himself but didn’t say anything to Geralt. Geralt probably guessed anyway. Jaskier stared through the windows as everything around them got whiter by the day or so it seemed. The sky was white, too.  
  
After one particularly cold night, they brought the horses in and after that, the first thing they did in the morning was to shovel a pile of horseshit out of the door. It was easy to get used to the smell, though. And the horses made the house warmer. And they didn’t seem to care about what Geralt and Jaskier did. Coincidentally, they didn’t do much. Sometimes Geralt held Jaskier’s hand in bed and sometimes Jaskier pressed himself against Geralt’s back when he couldn’t sleep, but that was all.  
  
He felt like he wanted to apologize to Geralt. He knew it was stupid, but he couldn’t help it. Also, he wanted to never talk about his dick again, and at the same time, he wanted to ask Geralt what Geralt had in mind. Geralt had said he was willing, but what exactly was he willing to do? Would he make Jaskier a list? And then Jaskier remembered again that he was an old man and even though he sometimes forgot it, his body didn’t. His dick definitely didn’t.  
  
If he was being honest with himself, he kind of thought it wasn’t about his age. He had a feeling that at least half of what was wrong with him was because he had once lost the man he had thought he would spend the rest of his life with it. It had felt like he would never run out of grief, and maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he was still sad, maybe it was stuck in his bones or something. But he couldn’t tell Geralt that.  
  
Then Geralt, the nosy bastard, started talking about it with him one morning, when they were eating breakfast.  
  
“How did he die?” Geralt asked.  
  
Jaskier put down the piece of bread he had been about to eat. “Who?”  
  
Geralt didn’t even flinch. “Your man.”  
  
“He…” Jaskier swallowed a couple of times. “He got ill.”  
  
“Was it fast?” Geralt asked, took Jaskier’s piece of bread and ate it.  
  
Jaskier stared at his own empty hands. “No.”  
  
Geralt didn’t answer. Jaskier glanced at the window. They should go get some snow to melt it down. They hadn’t tried to wash themselves in days, and it was getting difficult to decide which of them smelled more of a horse, they, or the horses.  
  
Then he glanced at his hands again. They were shaking uncontrollably on the table. He put one on the other, but it didn’t help at all. “We thought it was a common flu first. But it got worse. And then he was sick for months before…”  
  
“It must’ve been terrible.”  
  
“Many people have it worse,” Jaskier said, looking at his trembling fingers. “He was… he was himself until the end. He didn’t forget who he was, he didn’t forget me. He just… disappeared slowly. I tried to fix it but I… couldn’t.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“Why’re we talking about this?”  
  
“Sometimes you look sad when you think I don’t see. And then you pretend that you are not.”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“Don’t you dare to apologize for that,” Geralt said.  
  
Jaskier took a deep breath. “Do you want to talk about Ciri?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Jaskier nodded. He could see Geralt glancing at him over the table.  
  
“I thought about you,” Geralt said, “after I had left you. I thought about you a lot. It was awful. I had thought it’d be better if we got rid of each other but then I still had you in my head, only you weren’t real. It was just a memory of you, or an idea of what could have been. And it followed me everywhere. And then, when I was living with Ciri, I thought…”  
  
Jaskier waited.  
  
“Sometimes I thought we could have done it together,” Geralt said. “She might have had two…”  
  
“Parents,” Jaskier said. “Geralt, I’m sure I would’ve made a terrible dad.”  
  
“You couldn’t have been worse than I was,” Geralt said in a soft tone. “Well, anyway. Now you know.”  
  
Jaskier cleared his throat, then reached over the table and rested his hand on Geralt’s. He was going to say that he hated the thought that Geralt would blame himself for Ciri’s death, but it didn’t sound right, and Geralt had told him he didn’t want to talk about it. Perhaps Jaskier could have made a joke about their life together, too dads and a teenage girl travelling across the continent killing monsters, what a life to live. But it got stuck in his throat. Then he thought he might say that they would have to do laundry, and that he thought he smelled more of a horse than Cinnamon, and that if there would be more snow, he would probably cry.  
  
He looked through the window. It was snowing.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Geralt said.  
  
Jaskier patted him on the back of his hand and then went to take the horses outside for a couple of hours.  
  
  
**  
  
  
“There’s too much snow,” Jaskier said.  
  
“Hmm,” Geralt said.  
  
Jaskier looked at him and then through the window again. “What do monsters do in the winter, anyway? Do they sleep? Do they hide in the snow and wait for the spring?”  
  
“Don’t be daft,” Geralt said.  
  
“I’m not.” Jaskier thought about it.” Or probably I am, but I don’t know the difference. I’m just making conversation, Geralt. You’ve been so quiet today. Actually, you’ve been quiet the whole week.”  
  
Geralt glanced at him and then shrugged. He was sitting by the table, mending his clothes, which looked boring as hell. Jaskier walked a tiny circle on the floor, his hands on his hips. Geralt had to be bored out of his mind, and it would take _months_ before the snow would melt in the spring. At least two. Two months. Two months of boredom in a tiny house at the coast with Jaskier, with whom he didn’t even want to have a conversation about monsters hiding in the snow.  
  
“What’s that?” Jaskier asked.  
  
Geralt blinked at him.  
  
“The shirt. The shirt you’re mending. I’m not sure I’ve seen it before. When did you get it?”  
  
“I always wear this shirt,” Geralt said. “Are you sick or something?”  
  
“No.” _Shit._ “I just need someone to talk to me. _You._ I need you to talk.”  
  
“I can’t talk all the time,” Geralt said, sounding genuinely confused, the goddamn idiot. Jaskier took a deep breath. How had it happened that he had fallen in love with a man who didn’t like _talking?_ How indeed? Maybe he really was, like his mother had once said in a loving tone, mad like a cobbler. His mother had had personal grudge against cobblers.  
  
“Talk to the horses,” Geralt said, but at least he had a decency to sound apologizing.  
  
“To the horses?” Jaskier asked and then patted Cinnamon on the butt to let her know he wasn’t being serious. “I can’t talk to the _horses._ ”  
  
“I did it all the time when I was alone.”  
  
“Okay. Good. Pretend that I’m Roach. Talk to me, Geralt. Talk to me about anything.”  
  
Geralt opened his mouth, staring at Jaskier. Then he blinked. Then he closed his mouth again.  
  
“I’ll ride to the village,” Jaskier said and walked to the door, only he had to get past Roach at first. Then he remembered he needed to wear everything warm he owned if he didn’t want to freeze to death on the way. “I really need to have a conversation with someone. I can’t stand the silence.”  
  
“Jaskier –“  
  
“It’s morning. I’ll have plenty of time to sit in the tavern and talk to anyone who will listen to me and then ride back.”  
  
“You could sing,” Geralt asked. He had put the shirt aside and was now staring at Jaskier, his fists clenched and his shoulders tense. “Or play. I don’t mind. Then it wouldn’t be so quiet. I just…”  
  
“You aren’t a talker,” Jaskier said. He didn’t mean to make it sound so harsh, he really didn’t. He breathed in and out and tried again. “You aren’t a talker, Geralt, and I am, and I need to get to _talk_ before I make both of us crazy. And I don’t want us to get into fight only because I never learned how to sit quietly in the house covered in snow.”  
  
“Okay,” Geralt said slowly. “Sorry.”  
  
“Don’t do that,” Jaskier said, pointing a finger at him. “You aren’t supposed to apologize. You’re supposed to mutter under your breath that you don’t understand how you ended up living with a nutcase who wants to talk all the time.”  
  
Geralt tilted his head to the side, watching him.  
  
“I’ll be back in the evening,” Jaskier said and opened the front door. It was so fucking cold outside. He cleared his throat and then tried to get Cinnamon out of the door, only it was surprisingly difficult. It was almost like the horse knew she was going to have a nice little walk in the snow and brisk winter air.  
  
“Jaskier -,” Geralt said, when Jaskier was about to close the door again.  
  
“See you later, Geralt,” he said.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Cinnamon had been right. The walk wasn’t nice. But when they finally got to the village and Jaskier went to the tavern, he decided quickly that it had been worth it. Clearly people didn’t know what else to do in a day like this, because it seemed like they all were there. Jaskier asked the baker about his kids, one of whom had got married in the autumn and moved to the next village, and one of whom wanted to become a tailor, which was a small scandal. Then he talked to the blacksmith about how much snow there was and how much could be excepted and how much worse it was when the wind was coming from the north, and how nice it was in sunny days when there was so much light everywhere that it almost hurt. And in the evenings, in days like that, the snow glowed like it was made of diamonds. It really was nice. He almost grew fond of snow again, when he was talking about it.  
  
The woman who had sold Jaskier a warm jacket for the winter told him about the accident that had happened in the village a week ago. A pile of snow had fallen onto Berthe, an old woman who lived at the tiniest house in the village and rarely left it. It was an exciting and of course, terrible, story, but the woman assured Jaskier that Berthe was going to be fine. Then Jaskier asked about her sons and she told him, and she asked him about his, and he told that he didn’t have any. He had thought everyone knew by now. But then she asked him about Geralt, and he told her how quiet Geralt was and how unnerving it was to share a house with someone who didn’t _talk_ and how he sometimes wanted to shake Geralt until Geralt finally said something, only of course he loved Geralt and wouldn’t do that. The woman patted him on the hand and told him that was what love was like, and that they should have gotten a house in the village, so Geralt could be quiet when he wanted to and Jaskier could come to talk to other people when he wanted to. Jaskier smiled and didn’t point out that they didn’t have the coin.  
  
He spent a little longer in the tavern than he had planned to. It was just so nice to talk to people who actually wanted to _talk_ and didn’t look like they were just trying to amuse him by listening to his nonsense. Not that he wasn’t happy that Geralt listened to his nonsense, because he was, he was terribly happy, but he was also very frustrated. So, it had gotten dark already before he saddled Cinnamon and coaxed her out of the warm stable with promises and threats. It was fortunate that he knew the road back home so well he couldn’t get lost.  
  
He got lost.  
  
Not badly, though. Just a little lost. He just didn’t know exactly where he was. And it was white everywhere, white in every direction he looked at, and the trees, wherever there were any, were also white, so it was hard to tell them apart. And Cinnamon only wanted to get back to the village, which didn’t help at all. Jaskier told her that Roach was probably missing her like crazy, the poor horse, after having had to spend the day with Geralt who didn’t even _talk._ That made her walk a little faster at least. But Jaskier still wasn’t certain of the direction. Well, he would find the house eventually.  
  
He didn’t. Instead, he was crossing another vale in knee-deep snow, when there was a faint cry coming from nowhere, and then someone grabbed his arm and pulled. He didn’t have much time to think about what to do, before he got pulled off the horse and to the snow. He tried to grab his dagger but couldn’t reach it, and there was snow everywhere, and he couldn’t see the creature properly, and he was very tired and very cold and he thought vaguely that if this was how he died, at least he had managed to build a house with Geralt first.  
  
Then he heard Geralt calling his name.  
  
He tried to kick the creature but missed, and it was apparently trying to crawl its way through his clothes. And wasn’t it a bad sign that he was hearing Geralt’s voice in his head?  
  
“Jaskier,” Geralt was shouting, and the voice was getting nearer, which probably meant Jaskier was losing his conscience. “Jaskier, fucking hell, Jaskier, kick it in the face, it’s just a tiny – _Jaskier!_ ”  
  
At least he had had a chance to love Geralt. That was good. That was everything he had wanted from the rest of his life, wasn’t it? Except for some good ale and good music and warmth and nice clothes. But what was the most important thing was that he had loved Geralt. And he had a feeling that Geralt had loved him. Wasn’t it perfect?  
  
It was perfect.  
  
  
**  
  
  
He woke up when some asshole kept slapping him on the face.  
  
“Oh, bloody hell,” Geralt said when Jaskier peered one eye open, “you fucking scared me, you asshole, you shouldn’t have left, and to almost let the tiniest monster you could find to eat you, that’s just… I’m so angry at you right now, I can’t even talk. You almost _died._ ”  
  
“I got lost,” Jaskier said. His voice sounded like tiny rocks in a glass jar.  
  
“You got lost?” Geralt said and grabbed his shoulders. Apparently, it had been Geralt who had been slapping him on the face, because now the slapping stopped. Well, he was relieved that it had been Geralt. He didn’t want anyone else to slap him on the face. Only Geralt. “You goddamn idiot, you got _lost?_ ”  
  
“There was snow everywhere,” he said, blinking. He seemed to be at home, in their bed, covered with every blanket they owned, and Geralt was hovering over him like an angry giant. “Sorry.”  
  
“I’m not angry,” Geralt said angrily. “But do you have any idea what it was like? I had been riding for hours, looking for you, and then when I finally saw you, this tiny snowling grabbed your wrist and you just _fell_ –“  
  
“I’m not very good at fighting monsters.”  
  
“Well, I know _that_ ,” Geralt said, but he let go of Jaskier’s shoulders and straightened his back. “Are you hurt? Are you hungry? Are you cold? I don’t think we have any more blankets, but I could wrap them tighter if you’re cold. Or maybe –“  
  
“Geralt,” Jaskier said and licked his lips.  
  
Geralt blinked.  
  
“I love you,” Jaskier said. He wanted to touch Geralt but there were so many blankets on him that he couldn’t get his hand free from under their weight. “You know that, don’t you?”  
  
Geralt stared at him for a moment and then nodded. “Yes.”  
  
“Good,” Jaskier said with a deep breath. “That’s good.”  
  
Geralt cleared his throat and then pushed the strands of hair from Jaskier’s forehead. “I feel the same way about you. Obviously.”  
  
Jaskier nodded.  
  
“I thought I had lost you. And to a _snowling –_ “  
  
“It was a very terrifying creature.”  
  
“I think it was a baby,” Geralt said and bit his lip. “I killed it by an accident. I was so busy trying to save you.”  
  
“Geralt?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“There’re too many blankets,” Jaskier said. “They’re too heavy.”  
  
“I want you to be warm,” Geralt said and didn’t do anything to remove any of the blankets.  
  
“Can’t you just come to the bed with me?”  
  
Geralt stared at him for a few seconds and then started taking off his clothes. He wanted to say something, but it turned out he didn’t have any words left in him. He was already naked, which was a little odd. Maybe the monster had destroyed all his clothes.  
  
“I undressed you because your clothes were wet and cold,” Geralt said. “Sorry.”  
  
Jaskier shook his head and then sighed. Too bad he had been unconscious. He would have wanted to be there when Geralt undressed him. But this kind of made up for it. He watched as Geralt took off his undergarment with everything else, and then lifted the pile of blankets, finally, and got to the bed with Jaskier. It was probably the first time they were naked in this bed together. Jaskier bit his lip and smiled a little, and Geralt shifted closer to him and took him in his arms. He pushed his nose against Geralt’s throat and Geralt had his palms on his back, firm and steady and big. It was good. It was everything he had wanted. And he hoped he could keep it for a little longer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter, guys!

Jaskier got sick.  
  
After Geralt had pulled him out from snow and brought him home, he slept for the whole night and woke up in the morning with fever. He told Geralt not to worry, but Geralt wiped his face with a damp cloth and then took the horses out of the house, telling them Jaskier needed ‘some peace and quiet’. Jaskier didn’t need fucking peace and quiet, peace and quiet were for dead people. But he found out that he didn’t have the strength to explain that to Geralt. And it was nice to have Geralt sitting on the edge of the bed, stroking his hair. When he grabbed Geralt’s hand, Geralt didn’t even flinch, only entangled their fingers together and stayed.  
  
That night, Jaskier had a dream in which he was with Geralt in a house surrounded by snow, and Geralt kept saying something to him but he couldn’t make sense of the words. Geralt was very beautiful, though. And there were two horses in the room. Jaskier knew their names but couldn’t remember.  
  
In the morning, the fever had broken, and he felt like he had been swimming in sweat. He didn’t want Geralt to touch him, but Geralt ignored that and washed him with a wet cloth and a bucket of warm water. He kept his eyes closed and tried not to wonder what Geralt thought of him.  
  
“Look at me,” Geralt said, his voice sharp and demanding. “Jaskier, look at me.”  
  
“I don’t want to,” he said but glanced at Geralt anyway. “You look too good.”  
  
It took him a few seconds to realize that it was anger on Geralt’s face. Geralt sank the cloth to the bucket and then started wiping Jaskier’s face with determination that was a little worrying.  
  
“It’s just that I –“  
  
“Don’t,” Geralt cut in. “Don’t say that you’re old. I’m older.”  
  
“It’s not the same thing.”  
  
“Stop complaining that I look too young,” Geralt said. “I can’t take it. Not now.”  
  
“I’m not –“  
  
“And you’re going to say nothing about yourself,” Geralt said, “nothing. You’re fine, and you’re going to get better.”  
  
“Geralt –“  
  
“Shut up,” Geralt said and then turned Jaskier onto his stomach and started wiping his back. Jaskier felt like a well-loved ragdoll. “Shut up,” Geralt said in a low voice. He didn’t seem to wait for an answer, so Jaskier closed his eyes. “Stop talking about it. You’re always talking about it. You’re always _thinking_ about it. We aren’t going to have enough time and you’re wasting the time we have thinking that you should be something else.”  
  
Jaskier took a deep breath. He wanted to tell Geralt that he wasn’t going to die. Not yet. But he was too tired.  
  
“I can’t take it,” Geralt said, his voice barely more than a grunt. “I just can’t. You need to stop it.”  
  
Jaskier kept his eyes closed. When he managed to stop thinking about what he looked like for a second, it was almost nice to have Geralt taking care of him like this. If he had to have someone wiping him clean, he was glad it was Geralt. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to touch him. He concentrated on Geralt’s hands on him, then dozed off and woke up to Geralt stroking his hair.  
  
“Jaskier? Can you eat?”  
  
He bit his lip. “I’m not hungry.”  
  
“I want you to eat something. For me.”  
  
“Fine,” he said and took the piece of bread Geralt offered him. It tasted like sand. But Geralt looked happy when he tried to eat. “Geralt?”  
  
“Just eat,” Geralt said, his fingers pushing gently through Jaskier’s damp hair.  
  
“You don’t need to worry. I’m not going to die.”  
  
“Everyone dies,” Geralt said. “You have to drink water.”  
  
  
**  
  
  
It took Jaskier two weeks to get back onto his feet again. He blamed Geralt for that. Geralt kept making a fuss and Jaskier got distracted and didn’t really try to get out of the bed and do his chores. But sometimes it was nice that Geralt was there to make a fuss. When the coughing started and Jaskier couldn’t sleep because of it, Geralt told him stories about times when Jaskier hadn’t even been born yet, and that made him feel like he was a baby and Geralt was ancient. It was so good. And the young Geralt sounded like such an idiot. Jaskier was very sorry he hadn’t had a chance to meet him.  
  
“You would’ve hated me,” Geralt said when Jaskier pointed that out.  
  
“I could have never.”  
  
Geralt snorted.  
  
“Tell me about the time when you were a little drunk but still thought you could kill a griffin.”  
  
“That’s not even a good story.”  
  
“I love that story. It makes me feel that you’re just as clueless than the rest of us. You just hide it better.”  
  
“You only want to hear stories about me being an idiot. Do you even like me?”  
  
“Trust me, I like you,” Jaskier said and then coughed a little. He knew Geralt kept checking that he wasn’t coughing blood, but he pretended not to notice. “I like you a lot.”  
  
“Thank god,” Geralt said and stroked his hair. “I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“You don’t know anything.”  
  
“Geralt,” Jaskier said and breathed in carefully. He was sitting in between Geralt’s thighs in the bed, leaning against Geralt’s chest. He couldn’t lie down because then the coughing always got worse.  
  
“Jaskier,” Geralt said, his breathing warm on Jaskier’s neck.  
  
“I don’t know if I like the coast after all.”  
  
Geralt’s fingers in his hair froze.  
  
“I can’t stay here for another winter.”  
  
“I know,” Geralt said, wrapped his other arm around Jaskier’s waist and pulled him tighter against his chest.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“I’m only here because of you,” Geralt said. “I don’t care about the rest.”  
  
“Can we –,“ Jaskier paused to cough. He thought Geralt kissed the top of his head but couldn’t be sure. “Can we go somewhere where it’s warm? Together?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I have family in the south.”  
  
“I’m not good with people,” Geralt said, “but okay.”  
  
Jaskier took a deep breath. It stung in his lungs. “Really?”  
  
“You’re very stupid sometimes,” Geralt said, hugging him. “Did you think I would say no?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“I don’t ever want to have you get lost in the snow again,” Geralt said. “That can’t happen. So, we’re going to go somewhere where it doesn’t snow.”  
  
“Geralt,” Jaskier said. He tried not to laugh, because laughing made him cough. “I think I could get lost anywhere.”  
  
“Absolutely not,” Geralt said. “I won’t accept that.”  
  
“Tell me a story,” Jaskier said, leaning the back of his head against Geralt’s shoulder. He had always thought Geralt had very nice shoulders. “Tell me a story about how we met.”  
  
“You were there. You could tell it better than me.”  
  
“I want to know how you remember it.”  
  
“You were an idiot,” Geralt said quietly. “You followed me and almost got killed.”  
  
“Maybe I already knew I would fall in love with you in the end.”  
  
“And you were so young. You were barely an adult.”  
  
“You saved me.”  
  
“I only got you into trouble.”  
  
“You saved me so many times,” Jaskier said and closed his eyes. “I wish I could sleep.”  
  
“I’ll tell you a story about how we met,” Geralt said to his ear. “Listen. This is how it goes. It was a dark and stormy night…”  
  
“It _wasn’t._ ”  
  
“I thought all stories were supposed to begin with that.”  
  
“It was a very nice and sunny day,” Jaskier said. “And then what happened, Geralt?”  
  
“I was sitting in the darkest corner of the tavern,” Geralt said, “brooding.” And then he told the story, and Jaskier listened to his voice and _felt_ his voice and thought about how incredibly lucky he was. He had found Geralt and followed Geralt like an idiot and almost got killed by the elves. He had been very lucky in his life. It had been a good life.  
  
  
**  
  
  
The first time he got out of the house to empty his bladder, he had Geralt following in his footsteps, apparently ready to catch him if he fainted or something. He told Geralt to fuck off but Geralt didn’t, which was probably for the best. He still felt a little weak, but there was no way he could stand to piss in the pot for another day. He looked at the quiet hills sleeping under the snow. He would probably hate snow for the rest of his life.  
  
“Are you finished?” Geralt said from behind his back. “You’re going to get cold.”  
  
“Stop talking,” Jaskier said but fastened his trousers with fumbling fingers.  
  
He heard Geralt’s footsteps coming to him, soft in the snow. Geralt stopped at his side and touched his shoulder and then, when Jaskier didn’t move, put his arms around him. Geralt was warm and smelled of a horse.  
  
“I hate snow.”  
  
“You can hate it later,” Geralt said. “Let’s go inside.”  
  
“I just got out of the fucking barn for the first time in two weeks.”  
  
“And now I’m going to take you back there,” Geralt said and then sighed. “The fucking _barn?_ ”  
  
“You know it’s a barn.”  
  
“Not anymore. If you don’t start walking back to the house now, I’m going to lift you up and carry you there. I mean it.”  
  
Jaskier thought about it. It wouldn’t have been a bad deal. But he had had Geralt do everything possible for him for two weeks now, and it made him feel even more of a helpless old man that he apparently was. He patted Geralt on the shoulder and then walked back to the house, and Geralt followed him.  
  
At least it was warm inside. He shrugged off his coat and patted Cinnamon on the butt that was in his way, and then he sat at the table and began readying the breakfast. It felt good to be sitting instead of laying down. And he wasn’t coughing anymore. He knew they both were more relieved than they were letting out. Geralt was sitting in a chair beside him as if ready to catch him if he fell, and he wanted to bunch the idiot on the chest. Geralt had thought he might die. Surely Geralt had thought that. That was why he was now looking so relieved and worried at the same time. He had thought Jaskier might die of a cold like a fragile old thing.  
  
And what was worse, maybe Jaskier had thought so too, once or twice.  
  
“I’m alright, Geralt,” he said, looking at his own hands. “You can stop looking at me like you’ve been planning my funeral.”  
  
Geralt didn’t answer. Jaskier fumbled with a slice of bread for a while and then glanced at him. Geralt was staring back at him, his face grim as if he had his mouth full of ash.  
  
“Geralt?”  
  
“Fuck you,” Geralt said, his tone cold and clear. “From now on, you’re going to let me take care of you. And no fucking joking when I worry.”  
  
“I wasn’t –“  
  
“I can’t listen to you now,” Geralt said and stood up so quickly that Jaskier startled. “I’m going out. And if you ever joke about your funeral again, I will put you into a coffin myself.”  
  
Jaskier cleared his throat.  
  
Geralt blinked. “No, I won’t… I’ll go out.”  
  
“There’s nothing but snow, Geralt.”  
  
“Don’t talk to me,” Geralt said, walked to the door and then, thank god, came back and took his coat. Then he left. Jaskier looked at the closed door and then at the new Roach, who was throwing sympathetic looks at him.  
  
“I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” he said to the horse, and she turned her butt to him.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Geralt didn’t talk much that day. Jaskier ignored him the best he could and spent the most of the day playing his lute and singing old songs about the times when he had followed Geralt across the continent. The good thing was that now that they apparently weren’t talking, Geralt didn’t tell him to stop. Geralt didn’t leave the house either but filled the table with his tiny glass jars and herbs and weeds Jaskier didn’t know. Jaskier wanted so badly to ask what he was doing: was he counting his potions, or making a list what to get, or preparing to make a potion, or what? But he didn’t want to be the first to break the silence, so he only sang louder about the time when a fair maiden in an averagely wealthy village had fallen in love with Geralt after Geralt had saved her from a sudden and very unpleasant death in hands of a terrible monster.  
  
“I hate that song,” Geralt said later, when the sun had set hours ago, the glass jars had vanished from the table and Jaskier had put his lute away and had been reading a book about a talkative horse for a while. Now he looked up from his book. Geralt was standing in the middle of the room, his arms crossed over his chest.  
  
“Sorry, what?” Jaskier asked and put the book away.  
  
“The song you were singing earlier,” Geralt said. “I hate it.”  
  
“Which song? Because I sang pretty much every song I could remember.”  
  
“That one,” Geralt said, his face darkening. “The one where a girl… likes me.”  
  
“Oh,” Jaskier said, “ _A Fair Maiden Who Fell in Love with the Witcher_. That’s a sad story. I hope she never heard the song. But to be fair, I emphasized her beauty _a lot._ ”  
  
“It’s ridiculous. She didn’t… fall in love. She didn’t even know me.”  
  
“Yes, well -,” Jaskier paused and cleared his throat. “You might seem very attractive sometimes, Geralt. For example, if one is in your arms, being carried away from a very unpleasant scenario.”  
  
“It’s odd that you’re singing that song.”  
  
Jaskier straightened his back and wondered what he should say. He didn’t want to fight. And Geralt _knew_ it was only a song, so pointing that out seemed pointless.  
  
“It makes me feel like you don’t care,” Geralt said in an impossible low voice. Sometimes Jaskier wondered if perhaps Geralt’s voice got lower and hoarser when he was upset. It was working, though.  
  
“Of course I _care_ ,” Jaskier said. “I don’t understand what you’re saying, Geralt. I _care._ ”  
  
Geralt shook his head. “I don’t like that you’re singing it. It makes me feel like you don’t think you are… that you are my…”  
  
Jaskier waited. Finally, Geralt grunted and turned, took two steps and almost collided with Cinnamon, who was taking a nap.  
  
“Your what?” Jaskier asked in a quiet voice. “Because I probably am. But I don’t know which label you’re thinking of.”  
  
He could see Geralt swallowing. “My man.”  
  
 _Oh, god._ “Your man”, Jaskier said slowly. “Well, of course I’m your man. As long as you’re mine. That’s pretty obvious, Geralt.”  
  
Geralt nodded. He looked relieved, the idiot. Jaskier was relieved as well.  
  
“I’m sorry about the… I’m sorry I mentioned this specific type of a gathering that would be happening if I was going to pass away.” He took a deep breath. “I know you’ve been worried. I was worried too.”  
  
Geralt nodded again.  
  
“I didn’t like it,” Jaskier said. “It was terrible. I don’t want to get sick ever again.”  
  
“That’s fine with me,” Geralt said.  
  
“Good. That’s good. We’re at the same page, then. And about the other thing…”  
  
“You’re my man.”  
  
“Yes. Happily.” He smiled at Geralt. Geralt didn’t smile back at him, but there was a soft look in his eyes. “Are you tired yet?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Well, would you like to come to bed anyway?” Jaskier asked. “You’ve been poking at me and fussing around for two weeks and now you haven’t touched me in, I don’t even know, ten hours. It’s weird.”  
  
“I haven’t been _poking_ at you,” Geralt said. He didn’t mention the fussing around.  
  
“You did it very nicely,” Jaskier said and then started taking off his clothes. He didn’t feel exactly tired but rather thin and weary and anxious. He didn’t think he could fall asleep anytime soon, but he wanted to lay in the bed, and he wanted Geralt there with him, grunting at him and touching him.  
  
His hands were trembling a little. He wondered if Geralt noticed.  
  
He waited until Geralt had undressed as well, and then he settled on the mattress, lying on his side and watching as Geralt climbed to the bed. Geralt’s hair was a mess. It would probably take hours to comb it when they finally had the chance to take a bath again. Geralt had tried to wash it in a bucket of water, but that had ended badly.  
  
“What now?” Geralt asked. He had taken off his undershirt and his chest barely moved with his breathing.  
  
Jaskier reached to follow the scar under Geralt’s collar bone with his fingertips. It was an old scar. It couldn’t have hurt the slightest, but Geralt flinched anyway. “Is this okay?”  
  
“Of course,” Geralt said. “Jaskier –“  
  
“I think,” Jaskier said and rested his hand on the side of Geralt’s face. “I think, now we kiss.”  
  
He could see Geralt swallowing. “Now?” Geralt asked in a low rumble. He sounded surprised.  
  
“Yes. I think it’s taken long enough. Don’t you?”  
  
Geralt nodded.  
  
“And since I’m your man,” Jaskier said and brushed his thumb against Geralt’s lower lip, “I think I’m allowed.”  
  
“You’ve been allowed for a long time,” Geralt said. His eyes kept flicking to Jaskier’s mouth.  
  
“I don’t know why it took so long,” Jaskier said, leaned in and kissed him.  
  
Geralt stayed absolutely still. He didn’t even breathe. Jaskier held his face and kissed him on the mouth and then bit his lower lip just a little.  
  
“Kiss me back, you idiot.”  
  
“I don’t –“  
  
“You don’t what?” His lips brushed against the stubble on Geralt’s jaw as he spoke. He pushed his fingers into Geralt’s hair and then pulled them back. He would touch Geralt’s hair again in the spring, after a very long and thorough bath.  
  
“I don’t know what you like,” Geralt said. He glanced at Jaskier and then closed his eyes again. Maybe he wasn’t used to looking at someone from this close. Jaskier knew what that was like.  
  
“Well, of course you don’t,” he said and kissed Geralt again. “You’re just going to have to figure it out. Try something.”  
  
“I love you,” Geralt said. He sounded miserable.  
  
“Yes, I know, it’s frightening,” Jaskier said. It was addictive, to be able to kiss Geralt like this. And this time, Geralt parted his lips just a little and almost kissed Jaskier back. “But at least you already have me. I’m easy, Geralt. I won’t go anywhere.”  
  
“Maybe when the snow melts –“  
  
“No,” Jaskier said and kept kissing the idiot, “no, if we leave, we leave together. You know that bloody well, Geralt. Now, would you be so kind and just kiss me.”  
  
  
**  
  
  
He didn’t mind that it took a few days before Geralt started kissing him properly. He didn’t mind it at all, because waiting for it to happen was almost just as good as the moment when Geralt finally, finally figured out that Jaskier wasn’t going to break. Probably. He felt pretty breakable, though. But he wasn’t going to point that out now, when Geralt finally had him lying on his back, his right hand resting on Jaskier’s chest pretty much where his heart was beating, and his left hand holding Jaskier by the chin. Jaskier had always known Geralt could kiss, but this was even better. He felt like there was nothing else in Geralt’s mind except for their mouths pushed together, except for the way he kept kissing Jaskier until Jaskier couldn’t breathe, and it was good, it was so good to be finally let to draw in a breath, while Geralt kissed his throat and his neck and his closed eyelids.  
  
Then Geralt ran his fingers down on Jaskier’s body, down and down and down until he wrapped them around Jaskier’s dick, and then Jaskier realized why he had been putting off the kissing.  
  
“Geralt –“  
  
“Sorry,” Geralt said, still holding Jaskier’s dick that had gone soft in his hand. “I should’ve asked first.”  
  
“No,” Jaskier said and took a deep breath, “well, maybe, but it’s not about that. _I’m_ sorry.”  
  
“Can’t I –,“ Geralt paused, watching him. “What would you like me to do?”  
  
“Let go of my dick and keep kissing me. I don’t want to remember that I’m like this.”  
  
“What if I take you in my mouth? Would it be –“  
  
“It would be perfect, Geralt,” he said, a little out of breath and more than a little angry at all the gods that had only allowed him to get to this situation with Geralt now that there was so little he could do with it. “It would be, if I wasn’t so goddamn frustrated about the fact that my dick isn’t working.” He swallowed. Geralt was kneeling over him and it was very obvious that Geralt’s dick didn’t have any problems at all. “Just kiss me,” Jaskier said and brushed his fingers against Geralt’s dick through the fabric. Geralt flinched. “Kiss me,” he said again and tried to push his hand into Geralt’s pants but couldn’t reach.  
  
“Are you sure?” Geralt asked.  
  
“Yes. I’ve kind of always wanted to touch your dick.”  
  
“But you can’t –“  
  
“I can’t fucking come,” he said, blinking as Geralt pushed his own pants down to his knees. “But you can.”  
  
“Jaskier –,” Geralt said, kissing his throat.  
  
“You’re very naked,” he said, trying to take a good look even though the angle was bad. “Now, you can touch anything in me except for my dick. Or anything else between my legs, really, because that’s when my dick gets nervous. Did you get that?”  
  
“Yes,” Geralt said and then took a sharp breath when Jaskier wrapped his fingers around his cock.  
  
“Are you sure? You sound a little distracted.”  
  
“Fuck you,” Geralt said in a grunt.  
  
Oh, the bloody irony.  
  
“Yes, well,” Jaskier said, “no. Are you enjoying this, Geralt?”  
  
Geralt nodded.  
  
“Kiss me, then. You can kiss me and still enjoy my hand, can’t you? Or is too much of a –“  
  
And then, thank god, Geralt kissed him.  
  
Those were good kissed. Those were _excellent_ kisses. It took ages to get Geralt to the point where he was about to come, but it was worth it. Jaskier got kissed so thoroughly he didn’t mind that his wrist began hurting and when he tried switching hands, he found out that his left hand didn’t have a clue about what to do with Geralt’s dick. He had to switch back. And when Geralt was already shaking a little on his knees and letting out small sighs that could have been moans, Jaskier realized his own dick was hard again. He pressed it against Geralt’s thigh and Geralt didn’t even notice, which was great. He tried to forget about it as well. This would be better that way.  
  
It turned out that he forgot about his dick quite easily, pretty much when Geralt started telling him to tell him to come, which was insane. He had never thought Geralt would be a _talker_ in bed, and Geralt seemed a little shocked himself. The horses were shocked as well, but Jaskier ignored them.  
  
“Not yet,” he said to Geralt and sped up his hand even though he was going to fucking sprain his wrist with Geralt’s cock.  
  
“Jaskier,” Geralt rumbled.  
  
“No. Not yet.”  
  
“I can’t… Tell me to…”  
  
 _Not yet,_ he thought, _no, not yet_ , and watched with wide eyes as Geralt tried to breathe and apparently tried not to come. _Not yet._ But then he couldn’t take it anymore. “Now.”  
  
“Jaskier –“  
  
“Now, Geralt.”  
  
Geralt came to his hand with an almost silent moan, then collapsed onto him, then opened his eyes and stared at him looking surprised he was still alive.  
  
“You’re indeed a bit heavy,” Jaskier said. “Could you maybe move a little?”  
  
Geralt climbed off him but pressed against his side and buried his face against his neck. He thought about his dick, pressed against the crook of Geralt’s thigh, not completely soft yet but getting there, and then he realized Geralt had fallen asleep. He took a deep breath and stroked Geralt’s filthy hair as lightly as he could. It seemed that Geralt was drooling on his shoulder. At least the horses had lost all their interest in their doings. Jaskier wished there was something of Geralt he could reach to kiss except for the hair, but there wasn’t.  
  
He closed his eyes. Geralt’s hand was resting on his stomach, heavy and warm and familiar. Outside, it was still snowing.  
  
  
**  
  
  
It was the longest winter he remembered. He was a little worried that perhaps his memory was playing tricks on him, which wouldn’t have been good at all. He wasn’t old enough to start forgetting things. But then he decided there was nothing wrong with his memory. The winter felt long because there was too much snow, and because all the days were the same, and because Geralt was the only person he saw, and because there were two horses living with them in a tiny house.  
  
Then, one day, Geralt walked through the door and said that it was the spring.  
  
Jaskier blinked. It was a grey day and there was as much snow as ever. “You’re wrong.”  
  
“I can smell it,” Geralt said. “A few weeks and we can ride to the village.”  
  
Jaskier tried not to show how relieved he was. Then he decided trying wasn’t worth it. Geralt would know anyway. And Geralt was supposed to know this kind of things now that he was Geralt’s man.  
  
“Fucking hell,” he said and walked to the door. He thought the air smelled only of snow. But he trusted Geralt. “Thank god. I thought I’d die before the spring came. Come here.”  
  
Geralt came to him. The doorway was a little small for them both, so he leaned against Geralt’s side and wrapped his arm around Geralt’s back.  
  
“I can’t believe it.”  
  
“Don’t be stupid,” Geralt said. He sounded so happy it almost hurt Jaskier.  
  
“When we can,” he said, “we’re going to ride to the village and take a bath. That’s the first thing. It’ll probably take the whole day.”  
  
Geralt snorted.  
  
“And then I’ll talk to everyone,” Jaskier said, “and I mean, _everyone._ I’ll talk to them for _hours_ and tell them every single thing that’s happened to me this winter… Don’t look at me that way, you idiot, I’m not going to tell them about _that._ At least not with details. Anyway, I’m going to ask about their wives and husbands and sons and daughters and grandchildren and dogs and horses and gardens and roofs. So that you know.”  
  
“Sounds terrible.”  
  
“And then,” Jaskier said, “then I think I want to come back here with you and forget about the rest of the world and get to the bed with you and tell you all about the grandchildren and the gardens, and then I’m going to make you come at least twice.”  
  
Geralt cleared his throat. Jaskier patted him on the arm. They didn’t really talk about it, but he knew Geralt wasn’t happy he was the only one who could come when they laid together. There seemed to be no point in talking. They both wanted the same thing they couldn’t have, and it was easier to pretend they didn’t. Talking about it would have only made Jaskier think about it more and he didn’t want to think about it, he wanted to concentrate on the things they could do in bed.  
  
“What would you like to do?” he asked when they were back in the house and the door was closed. It was easier to believe in spring when he couldn’t see all the snow. “After the snow starts melting.”  
  
Geralt was silent for a long time. “I think I’d like to look for a job.”  
  
Jaskier blinked.  
  
“I don’t think I’ve ever spent this long in one place,” Geralt said in a quiet voice. “I need a job. I need to go somewhere and deal with a monster of some kind and then I want to come back.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“And I hope that when I do,” Geralt said, walking to Roach and resting his hand on her neck, “I find you happy enough in the village, talking to people about their dogs and kittens.”  
  
“I guess I can do that,” Jaskier said slowly. He hated the thought of Geralt going away. But there was no way he could go with Geralt.  
  
“Or, if you want to,” Geralt said, “we can go somewhere else first. We can go to that town in the south you mentioned. We can go to live with your family, and you can stay with them when I’m away.”  
  
“But you’d come back,” Jaskier said in a thin voice he hated, “to me.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Unless you die.”  
  
Geralt tilted his head to the side. “Yes. But, you know, I’m good at what I do.”  
  
“I know,” Jaskier said and took a deep breath. “My family will be pain in the ass.”  
  
“But you love them.”  
  
Jaskier bit his teeth. “I usually love idiots.”  
  
“Good,” Geralt said, stopped petting Roach and walked to him. He waited and Geralt patted him on the shoulder, then wrapped his arm around his back and drew him close. He shut his eyes. They really needed that bath. But he kissed Geralt’s neck anyway and Geralt stroked his hair.  
  
“I think I’d like to see this place in the summer,” Jaskier said to Geralt’s neck. “For a while at least. We could stay for a while and then leave long before fall.”  
  
“Okay,” Geralt said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! Thank you so much for reading and leaving all those nice comments to me <3 Writing this has been so fun (and a little bit heartbreaking at times), and to be completely honest, I don't think I'm done with this series. So keep your eyes open for a sequel in which Geralt and Jaskier go to live with Jaskier's relatives. I'm sure it'll be very smooth, bringing your slightly scary witcher boyfriend to meet your family in your old-ish age.


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